No More Heroes
by Osage
Summary: Rebel, fighter, soldier, kin...He had many labels but only one desire. Chronicles the life of a young man's campaign against the Alliance. [Written for Aeternix's February Contest on Aria's Afterlife forum] [Complete].
1. Deadman's switch

**A/N: Try to keep an open mind and pay close attention to the years. Enjoy!**

Surveillance Time stamp—May 2168

His favorite pair of Edward Greens squeaked against the wet cobblestones, completely ruined by the recent rain. Yet Josef barely registered the loss as he scrolled through his omni-tool, smiling at the pictures of beautiful girls and new friends from Pier 7. He only went because his grandfather wouldn't let it drop. According to him, a boy was a man on his eighteenth birthday and deserved to celebrate as such. Josef initially planned to have nothing more than a few drinks with the guys before heading home, but Beirut's hottest night clubs had other plans. They teased and taunted him with strobe lights, blaring music and crowds of humans and aliens alike all cramped into an intimate dance floor, drunk on their own excitement.

But it was Faridah who caught his eye as she commanded the dance floor. Unlike the others, there was no teasing in her hazel eyes, she wasn't looking to play games or push the boundaries of her sexuality. Faridah was there to dance and moved like a goddess. He tried many times to focus on the famous asari nearby, but his wandering eye returned to the true human beauty who occasionally offered a friendly smile.

Their friends turned conspirators and introduced them. The rest of the night was full of laughter as they danced together. He didn't consider himself even a remotely passable one but she would not accept ineptness as an excuse. She would fist her hands in his dress shirt as they swayed to the music and whispered stories to each other long into the night.

After walking her home to a modest house near Biel, he was glad to discover they weren't all that far from each other. Josef's omni-tool pinged as he crossed onto Gauraud street. The text echoed his sentiments:

_I wish to see you again, Josef._

He froze mid-reply as his eyes fell on the visitor near his building. The beefy figure of Khalil was unmistakable. His friend leaned against the column of the ten-story penthouse apartment building Joe called home and lit a cigarette. The crushing weight of reality pushed his night aside as he jogged the rest of the way over, suddenly worried.

His comrade shot him a toothy grin as he stubbed the cigarette. "Josef!" Khalil greeted, arms wide as he crushed him into a hug.

When they parted, Joe pat his friend on the shoulder, frowning at the bulkiness beneath his palm. "If I didn't know better, I would say you've been working out."

"Unfortunately for us both," he unzipped his jacket and revealed the wires and plaster, poking from his vest, "you do know better my friend."

Josef clenched his jaw, suddenly feeling very stupid for getting so caught up in normal life. Khalil was a freedom fighter through and through. Having fought alongside Josef's father, he was one of the few who vouched for him when the People's Liberation Army (PLA) was recruiting. Now Khalil was out here working hard, while he danced the night away, enjoying an undeserved freedom.

A squad of Alliance soldiers rounded the corner on routine patrol. They were becoming a more common sight since the Lebanese Army had its hands full keeping peace in South Lebanon.

Khalil zipped his jacket and took off at a brisk pace. Joe caught the squad leader's suspicious glance as he turned to follow his friend. "Your target?" he asked in a hushed tone.

"The pigs at Skybar," Khalil whispered.

Skybar was the most famous rooftop club Beirut had to offer. It would still be jam packed with civilians at four o'clock in the morning. It was also a famous hangout for Alliance contractors who did the dirty work the Alliance did not want to be associated with. "The Mercenaries? You can't go alone. They outnumber you."

"No one said it would be simple, Josef." Khalil smiled and threw an arm around him, play-acting for the squad. "They all must die."

The cigarette smoke on Khalil's breath stung his eyes, but Josef tried his best to play along and not alert the guards. Just two friends taking a walk, nothing more.

When the guards passed, Josef pushed away from him, determined to provide backup. "Let me get my weapon. I will cover you and make sure the civilians leave."

"Evacuation would only alert the target. I can't take that chance." Khalil dug into his pocket and shoved an envelope his way. "Besides, you have another mission my friend. Your training has been approved. Your flight for the Sahara will come sooner than you think."

As Josef read the letter and stuffed the plane chit into his suit jacket, Khalil paced before him, running heavy hands over his bearded face. Khalil would never admit he was nervous.

"Wait for me." Josef grasped his older friend's shoulders to keep him from pacing. "Don't do anything until I get my weapon." When Khalil didn't meet his eye Josef shook him. "Wait for me!"

Khalil finally nodded and mustered a faint smile. "I will my friend. But you must hurry."

One didn't work this long for freedom fighters to think Khalil would actually keep his promise. So once his friend was out of sight, Josef took off at a full sprint, knowing he only had minutes to intercept him after gearing up.

Ten minutes out of breath later, he was too late. The entire neighborhood felt the music whenever Skybar was open, its absence implied the obvious.

Josef clutched the HMWP Master Pistol he filched from a fallen spectre long ago and took a shortcut to the famous club. Climbing fences and ducking past Alliance security drones, he made it to the entrance. A blockade was erected, too far too be effective but the Alliance grunts kept themselves well away as they pretended to secure the area. Probably waiting for the second they could wipe their hands clean and move onto other missions.

The manager and bouncer lay face-down in their combined pool of blood, something from within distracted them long enough for two bullet holes to find their heads. Josef stepped over them, pistol drawn. If the building was still standing it meant that Khalil hadn't detonated the vest.

The silence was unsettling. It hung over him as he cleared a path to the elevator, stomach clenching with each additional dead civilian he found. Judging by the automatic spray of bullets, the soldiers must have chased Khalil into the building with no regard for collateral. He stopped by a spray of orange and blue blood, a turian and asari who were caught in the crossfire lay shredded at his feet. Something about their dead bodies unsettled him, he had never seen aliens in this state. They seemed invulnerable so invulnerable before now.

He knew people opposed his cause, that some would rather bow down to Alliance rule and live out their days under constant military influence and surveillance. But he was not going to let their own ignorance enslave them and his country.

Satisfied that no one else was in the lobby. He pinged the elevator for the top floor and took cover at the control panel. As the numbers ascended, Josef felt eerily at ease. He hadn't been in a real battlefield since joining the PLA, they had him smuggling arms and transporting intel while they reviewed his membership. But he watched enough vids from his father's archives to know exactly what to expect.

The elevator doors would open, the guards would lower their weapons at the seemingly empty box and that's when he would strike. Headshots for all of them and he would be the hero.

When the doors slid apart his ears perked at the distinct sound of rifles powering up as all conversation stopped. Josef huddled patiently and waited, letting his heartbeat count down to the moment of the first strike.

Armored steps approached, hovering near the elevator but not foolishly wasting their ammo. Joe frowned, they were not supposed to be curious. He suddenly wished he had changed out of his white dress shirt and pants because the cold gust of air from the ventilator stabbed him in the chest.

Breathing heavy, he tried to control his impulse to attack, but the lack of background cues was driving him crazy. Cautious steps pounded through his skull. If they came any closer he would be discovered and shot like a rat.

In one swift move he stepped out, pivoted on his foot and fired into the first guard.

The bullet was absorbed into his shield, not even the impact rattled the helmeted figure. Joe stared in wonder. He had seen armored soldiers before, especially the Alliance types but they always looked like people. These soldiers, in their imposing gunmetal black full helmeted armor ranged from mechanical-looking beasts to body builders. Some were as huge as tanks, others lithe and stringy, but all covered head-to-toe in some form of plating and shields.

His shoulder exploded in a spray of red and took him out of his revere. The pistol tumbled from his grip as Josef fell hard onto the elevator floor, clutching the wound.

"Hang on just a goddamn minute!" A gravelly English voice barked.

Dazed and blinded by the stark strobe lights, Josef peered at the man who stood over him but starred into the barrel of a gun.

Panic welled up in his throat but he swallowed it down. He still had things to do, missions to complete, people to liberate...this couldn't be the end. Yet as the sticky blood leaked through his fingers, Josef gave a shaky smile. What end did he imagine by choosing this line of work?

His heart drummed against his ribcage as he waited. But the shot never came.

Instead the mercenary picked up his fallen pistol, giving Josef a good look at the ugly warped skin comprising his face. It looked as if someone mashed his face in and hurriedly put it back together. He wore no helmet, giving Joe a good look at his neck tattoo of a blue sun. The man's sand colored armor looked different from the rest.

"That's what happens when you put shit ammo in a good pistol," the merc said, letting the magazine clatter to the ground.

Josef didn't reply and focused on keeping pressure to his wound as he watched the old man with hooded eyes.

In the far corner, he could make out Khalil, dangling between two Krogan who held him up. He wasn't struggling but judging by their curt smiles, they wished he were.

The leader looked between them. "This some goddamn rescue mission?" His boot crunched under glass as he walked up to the bar counter. The woman behind it kept her hands up, she was nothing but a witness now. "Wonder who the hell you were here to save." He swept his arm around the empty rooftop, littered with a handful of dead civilians who were caught in the firefight.

Josef's arm started to numb but he didn't move a muscle as he assessed the situation. Khalil still wore his jacket, meaning the bomb was live. If he could get a clean hit...

"Relax sweetheart," Zaeed said to the bartender on the other side. "I need a whiskey straight."

"Yes, Mr. Massani," she replied, and lowered her shaking arms to grasp the bottle, her tremors ceased on contact.

Josef started to crawl but the sharp click of two rifles near his head made him stop.

"PLA, I take it?" Zaeed asked. "Don't know why you punks are so intent on killing people."

"Because dogs like you want to push the Alliance on us," Joe declared through a grimace.

"We guard Alliance assets, boy. This beautiful city is nothing but scenery to me." Zaeed downed his drink in one gulp and motioned for a refill.

"Then leave!" Joe yelled.

"That'd be a godsend." Zaeed chugged his drink before whirling to face him from the bar stool. "Tell you what. I'll give you a choice." He detached his side-arm, some form of heavy pistol Josef hadn't seen skid to him. Massani nodded for his men to back off as he watched Josef. "There's one round in there. Put it to good use, make someone leave."

This was a joke. Some sick game meant to amuse this mercenary dog, Josef knew it but couldn't stop his reflexes from snagging it off the floor and aiming straight for the pompous leader.

The bartender ducked. Massani just put his elbows on the counter and regarded him with faint curiosity.

One bullet. One chance. Josef knew his odds of survival were nil if he shot the old bastard, his hand hand knew it too and began to shake.

Sucking in a last breath, he swung his arm and fired, closing his eyes for his first glimpse of the afterlife.

Silence.

The sharp throb in his shoulder persisted. There was no explosion, nothing but the old man's coarse laugh.

Josef opened his eyes to see Massani approach the krogan who were covered in blood spatter. Khalil was slumped between them, no longer moving.

But before he could curse himself for terrible marksmanship, Massani lifted Khalil's head to show the perfect bulls-eye. Josef's eyes grew wide at the realization. He wanted to fire again but the significantly lighter gun told him there were no more bullets in it. He had essentially blown his chances along with his friend.

"The dead-man's switch. Too bad your friend wasn't man enough to wire one in," Massani remarked as he walked back to him. "You're just like your grandfather, Josef."

Josef's lungs went cold. He stared at the man, trying to place him but nowhere in his memory did a scraggly old mercenary live. "Who are you?"

"The name's Zaeed," the man replied, signalling his men to leave as he rested a well used rifle up against his shoulder. "Tell Malik I enjoyed this little show. But I don't do repeats."

Josef grabbed a shard of glass and started scrambling on his feet. He wasn't trained in hand-to-hand yet, that's what the camp was for. But he would be dammed if he let the enemy get away like this.

One of the mercs kicked his back and he kissed the floor, the shard slipped through his fingers and drew blood while the impact reverberated through his jaw and shoulder. Massani stood over him, his own boot practically squishing Josef into the floor. "Make no mistake, son. You're alive because of your grandfather. Old man's lost enough family."

"That is thanks to you and your Alliance masters!" Josef spat, crying out when Zaeed mashed his boot into his shoulder.

When his men were safely ensconced within the elevator, Zaeed let up and walked away, throwing one last piece of advice over his shoulder. "Leave the fighting to those that know better, boy."

Josef heaved, breathing hard as he watched the elevator doors slide closed over his enemy.

The bartender rushed up to him and pressed a cloth to the wound. It definitely had alcohol on it and he jerked away from the burn, fixing his gaze upon the three dead civilians still on the floor.

The woman followed his line of sight and stood tall. "Your friend didn't care about collateral. If those mercenaries weren't here, innocent people would have died."

Josef whirled on her. "Those men will kill even more!"

"That may be so but at least they were here to take control. Restore order. What have you and your pathetic kind given to us?" She accused, nudging a broken glass with her stiletto.

Josef felt exposed. No one was supposed to know who he worked for. The People's Liberation Army functioned under the ability to blend in, not that it would be of much use now, but it still unsettled him to be identified so openly. He hobbled towards Khalil, working the tension in his jaw as he got closer.

The rules were simple. If you were called upon to make the ultimate sacrifice, a deadman's switch was mandatory. That way your partner had an easy target and the enemy would be eradicated. Instead, the man who used to brag that he would do anything for the cause now lay dead in a heap on the floor with nothing to show for himself.

Josef shook his head and backed away from his friend. This time, the bartender didn't move to aid him as she searched the stars above for who knows what.


	2. Beirut

Surveillance Time Stamp—May 2168

Josef tried not to move as experienced hands stitched his shoulder together. He hated not being able to see the doctor working behind him, but the man knew what he was doing. The pain was a dull throb now, not the searing pit it was before sunrise.

"Tell me, how is Zaeed?" Malik asked, obediently raising his leg from the bin of water at his feet for the female nurse administering his foot care.

Josef hated having so many strange people around the house but with his grandfather's health declining, it seemed a necessary evil. Malik had emerged from bomb drops and war zones, it seemed inconceivable for old age to be his final adversary.

"He works for the enemy," Josef replied, stiffening as the doctor pressed a needle to his skin.

"I find that hard to believe. Zaeed works for no man, especially if he's learned anything from that horrible fallout with Vido," Malik mused, resting his chin on the steeple formed by his hands. His thick brow furrowed in concentration as he observed his grandson.

The second stitch broke skin and Josef grunted in pain, nearly jumping from the chair he was straddling. "The trapezius muscle is sensitive, it would be worse if an artery was hit. Would you like to take a break?" the doctor asked.

"No. Just finish it," Joe said over his shoulder before turning to Malik. "Your friend is no different from the rest of them, grandfather. Those Alliance-funded mercenaries have killed hundreds if not thousands."

The old man's brow furrowed as reminiscence lit his dull eyes. "Need I remind you how many bodies your cause has left?"

Josef jumped to his feet, startling the doctor and making the nurse pause in her work. He knew the old man loved to lecture him, but now wasn't the time. The blood of innocents was spilled for nothing. At least when the PLA did it, it directly halted Alliance advancement on the region.

Both professionals looked to Malik who only nodded in approval of their escape.

"Please don't move it too much, I haven't fin..." the doctor trailed off at Josef's glare.

When they were alone, Malik's lip quirked into an apathetic smile. "The Alliance wants all of Lebanon, grandfather. When will you open your eyes and see that?"

The old man snagged a towel from the back of his chair and started drying his feet. "I only want you to ask yourself why you think that is a bad idea, Josef?"

"They want to take our way of life. Get us involved in this ridiculous war with the space dwellers," Joe said as he paced to the baie-vitrée overlooking the beautiful city below. Beirut was a city of contradictions. Flashy new developments towered over the rich districts, promoting everything from sky cars to vids, while the crumbling buildings of the old world stood in ruin. Permanent reminders of wars long forgotten to all but those affected.

Malik coughed out a chuckle while Josef ignored him, watching as orange sunlight blessed the city that had a love-hate relationship with peace. "You are an eighteen year old man now, Josef. I would have thought you to understand the political intricacies of our city by now."

"Politics are for crooks." Josef turned his back to the city and faced his last surviving relative. "We can debate Alliance intentions all we want but that will not stop them from taking all that is ours and leaving us with nothing. We win with actions not words."

"You sound just like your father," Malik remarked as he leaned back and smoothed the silk dress shirt he wore. Even in old age, Malik made sure to keep up appearances. Not a single wrinkle was present on his shirt, pants or jacket. His greying hair was immaculately styled and groomed. Joe ran a hand through his own unruly hair, it would need a cut soon. "Though I will give him credit, for a native Australian he had a surprisingly good grasp of our politics. The ones you so very much despise."

Josef walked away, feeling vulnerable near such big windows. After being recruited for the cause, it was difficult to look at anything without seeing a security risk. So he gravitated towards the pictures Malik had erected on the solid gold armoire. Three generations of family was forever recorded in holo-grams. His parents on their wedding day looked intimately at peace in their candid shots. Everyone told Josef he looked more like his father, especially since he inherited his dark brooding eyes, thick jet black hair and olive skin. While his mother contributed pouty lips and good teeth, a commodity Malik joked was a family jewel. A picture of his father carrying his mother in his arms for their wedding day made him smile. They were both so happy laughing among their friends. Unaware that their new lives would be short lived.

He heard the shuffling before he saw Malik at his side. "You shouldn't strain yourself, grandfather."

Malik ignored him and placed a frail but firm hand on his uninjured shoulder. "I know you miss them, Josef. But this is not a way to remember their memory. Stop this foolishness and enjoy your life," the old man advised. "Take over the shop."

"And let the Alliance drag us into another First Contact War?" Josef's eyes landed on his mother and grandmother, standing proudly next to the Slipstream, a skycar they rebuilt from scratch. Salvaged chunks of it were buried in the shop downstairs beneath years of dust and neglect. The hollow feeling in his chest returned. "They won't stop. Not until every planet is colonized and they own the galaxy. Our people don't need more conflict."

"That is my point exactly." Malik reached over and handed Josef his suit along with the envelope containing plane tickets. Josef's eyes darkened when he snagged the items back. "You know what they teach you in the Sahara? They beat the humanity from you and turn you into a weapon. That is not what I wish for you."

Josef remembered his father's stories of being whipped into shape, taught how to kill and forced to survive in the desert. The merciless camps that forged boys into men produced some of the most notorious freedom fighters of the generation.

He looked to the picture of his father dressed in full military fatigues, face covered with the red-white bandana in the color of Lebanon's national flag. The green cedar tree was stenciled proudly on his shoulder as he posed with his Avenger rifle. It was even hard to believe the image was almost a decade old.

Malik frowned and nodded solemnly towards the picture of his son-in-law. "It seems that you have made up your mind. But I will tell you something I should have told your father." Malik faced him with glazed eyes but did not shed a tear. "Our family has seen too much tragedy and it is selfish for you to bring more. I will not stop you. But I will not mourn you."

They stood in a moment of silence. Joe couldn't meet the old man's eyes and watched the pictures, knowing it was possibly the last time he would be allowed to gaze at them. The wealthy family consisting of two grandparents, his mother and father, a slew of aunts and uncles with nieces and nephews that would never walk the Earth again seemed to collectively beg him to stay.

"I understand," Josef replied and hugged the old man who kissed him on both cheeks three times before moving away.

Josef felt another stab of pain as he watched his grandfather shuffle to the divan in defeat. But if losing a part of himself meant saving everyone else from a future of pain, then he was ready for anything.


	3. Bon Voyage

Surveillance Time Stamp—August 2168

Beneath the clouds of dawn the streets of Beirut were alive and congested. Humans and visiting aliens alike crowded around performers who ate fire, juggled chainsaws and everything in between for a credit. Distracted by the excitement, Joe bumped into a few grumbling batarians as Faridah led him by the hand, expertly avoiding such collisions herself.

They broke through a pocket of consumers and found themselves surrounded by lighter traffic near the outdoor street vendors. The majority were just opening up, but the few early-birds already had offerings up on display.

"I'm starting to think you're kidnapping me," Josef joked, as they slowed to a steady walk, holding hands.

"You wish, you big baby." Faridah playfully nudged into him as she spied her prize. "It's the last stall over there and we better hurry."

She took off like a rocket and for a moment he wondered whether he was ready for the Sahara if a woman could outrun him now. Those thoughts were shaken aside as he followed close. He was at the peak of his physical conditioning, accelerated by the local fitness program he was a slave to for the past four months. This was just equal part nerves and the early hour.

Sure enough Faridah was right. Before the older man could even set his trays of baklava on display, ten people swarmed him, brandishing credits from all directions.

Josef didn't care about the people who started pushing forward or the cries for the owner's attention that filled the air. He only had eyes for his companion as she tried to suppress a giggle. For the four months that he'd known her, Faridah proved to be a fantastic friend and quite the adventurous eater. She was well versed in the happenings of the city without getting overly political and she wasn't bad to look at either. A part of him wished he didn't have to leave, but in just twenty-four hours he would be whisked away to the camps and forged into a fighter that could protect the homeland.

She ran a hand through her raven tresses and locked eyes with him. "Damn. Perhaps we can try something else for breakfast?"

Josef laughed and flicked his omni-tool, setting it to quick transfer mode. "Don't be so quick to lose faith."

He caught her raised a brow, trying to decide if he was brave or suicidal as he pushed his way through. With a final wink he dove in and made a beeline for the vendor. He would have fought krogans to see her smile.

Ten minutes later they walked down the street laughing as they bit into delicious triangle pastries. She was right, they did taste like the sunlight exploded in your mouth. Coincidentally the real sunlight began to peak over the rooftops as they finished their last bites.

"I don't know how you managed that," she said, reaching up to smooth a forming bruise beneath his right eye, a souvenir for his troubles. "But I'm glad you did."

"You were looking forward to it. I couldn't leave you disappointed," Josef explained, wiping his hands on the napkin that used to hold his desert. Mornings were not his favorite, but clearly the right company made the difference."Thank you for showing me what I've been missing."

Faridah only shrugged as she finished her last piece. "It was no problem. I couldn't bear to watch you cook, that poor stove deserved a break from the assault."

His fingers found the sensitive spot on her side and she yelped in surprise, jumping into two clueless asari. Faridah blushed and excused herself, but the incident focused every local's eye on the aliens.

Lebanon's borders may have relaxed thanks to Alliance influence, but the flood of aliens was not easy to accept. People were still leery of their motives, especially when they chose to walk the streets in full combat gear.

"I don't think I will ever get used to them," Faridah whispered, huddling close when she saw a salarian up ahead, admiring something by the stall.

"This is Alliance work." Josef put an arm around her and felt her shoulders relax. "They think flooding us with tourists will make it easier to sneak in and take over. They are mistaken."

Faridah stiffened and pulled away. Before he could ask what was wrong she dragged him off the cobblestone streets and into an air conditioned cafe. They had a window seat and Faridah had to shade her eyes to look at him.

"Want to switch seats?" He asked, getting ready to move.

Her hand fell atop his and she shook her head, keeping him seated. A few patrons well into their morning breakfast looked over, mid-conversation, straining to eavesdrop on the couple. Not that he considered himself and Faridah as anything more than friends. She made that perfectly clear multiple times during their four months of enjoying eachother's company. Religion was the ironclad power still upheld in the city today, and while Joe didn't much care for anything to do with anyone's god, he respected her wishes for not getting intimate. Still moments there were moments like this where he wished they had a connection, if only so he could read her better.

A male waiter came by, a rarity in the city since most breakfast cafes were self-served buffets. The waiter smiled to Faridah from beneath his bushy mustache. "Bonjour, Mademoiselle." He then bowed to Joe. "Monsieur."

They greeted him and he tapped their order into his omni-tool before disappearing and repapering with two fresh cups of black coffee.

"Merci," they replied in unison, as the friendly human waiter wiggled his mustache and swooped in on new customers.

Faridah stirred her cup absentmindedly while Joe relished the dark taste of turkish coffee. For the next two years, this would be as good as it got. The camps did not carry luxury items like good coffee, it was all about minimalism and working with what you had.

"You hate them so much..." Faridah whispered, so softly that he would've missed it had he not seen her lips move over the rim of his cup.

He frowned, wondering what brought that on. They skirted around this issue many times, ever since Malik threw him out of the apartment. If it weren't for PLA, he would not have a place to sleep at night, an apartment to call home, men to call brothers. But Faridah couldn't see past the fighting. "What is it?"

She shook her head and gave a false smile that barely lifted her lips. "This is your last day. I don't want to fight."

"I don't want to leave things unfinished," Josef said, nudging his cup aside.

Faridah leaned on her palm and regarded him with beautiful honey irises. He felt the same pleading now that he did from the holo-graphs. _Don't go._

"That's ironic." She rolled her eyes and took a sip of coffee. "You are doing just that by leaving, Joe."

"There is nothing I can do here." His hands balled into fists as he sat at the edge of his seat. "I need to prepare and repel the Alliance from getting Lebanon caught up in one of their catastrophic campaigns."

"Prepare, fight, repel, I don't care what you call it!" Her palm came down on the table with a loud slap. The ambient noise died as every ear strained to hear their conversation. "You are running away when you have every reason to stay."

He wanted to embrace her logic but couldn't bring himself to do it. It's as if in the span of a few words she became an outsider, someone he could no longer reach.

Their silence translated into boredom for the rest of the patrons and they resumed their conversations.

Faridah clasped his hand between both of hers. Her warm palms did little for his cold one, but he kept still under her touch. "Take over Malik's shop and continue your family's legacy. God knows you are probably the last honest mechanic left in this city. Wouldn't that be enough for you?"

Images of that lovely lovely Slipstream exploding into a million pieces flashed in his mind's eye. He could literally taste the floating embers and hear the agony in his father's cry. "You're asking me to forget—"

"Of course not!" Faridah exclaimed, running a hand over his stubbly cheek. "Josef, this city has lived through its fair share of conflicts. It will survive many more. The reason we are still here is because we keep getting back up and dusting ourselves off."

"What happens when we can no longer do that?" Josef asked, drawing his hand from her grasp and clutching at the wrist grazing his cheek. "It only takes one Alliance funded major disaster to turn out city into a police state. How would we recover?"

Faridah didn't have an answer for that and looked away. She had to have seen the news reports, element zero was a volatile commodity, it was no wonder the Alliance wanted to mine it far away from their precious United North American States

Joe exhaled slowly and kissed the inside of her wrist. It didn't take a genius to see what was coming.

"Then I can't wait for you, Josef." She drew her hand away and left him cold.

"I know," he replied, surprised with how resolute his voice sounded. Faridah was a good friend, but while there was a small window of them being something more, he found himself not missing its closing.

He paid for the coffee and they stood outside the cafe, watching the brilliant blue sky as it promised another cloud free day.

"I really hope you find what you are looking for out there," Faridah said, facing him as she played with her hands nervously. "Just know that I will always be here if you change your mind."

Joe smiled with a nod. "Take care, Faridah. You are the city's treasure."

"I'm not the only one." She stepped forward and rose on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. Then she was gone, weaving and dodging pedestrian traffic. He didn't move as he watched her go, not even when the dust storm dumped sand over his head.


	4. First Strike

Surveillance Time Stamp—November 2170

_In today's top story, one week after the devastating attack on Mindoir the Alliance has restored order to the region. Those affected by the eezo fallout from multiple ship casualties, will begin preliminary biotic potential treatments today. Alliance medical staff will be transporting survivor's off-world for continued observation in their recovery._

_In other news, President Enrique Aguilar of the United North American States will be stopping in his home city of New York tomorrow. The president is set to deliver a speech at the Statue of Liberty memorial in remembrance of the Second American Civil war. The statue was originally destroyed by terrorist group Freedoms First during—_

Joe flicked off his data pad and stuffed it back into his pack. This was the news loop the world currently cared about. So-called 'accidents' where the Alliance took credit as heroes while sequestering their next generation of biotic soldiers. It was nothing short of despicable in his eyes.

Deathly silence hung in the plane's cabin, civilians were either plugged into their omni-tools or dozing, completely oblivious to the deception surrounding them. He never understood how people could close their eyes among strangers, let alone sleep. But then again, everything felt strange to him since leaving the camps.

Joe ran a hand through his new buzz-cut, flinching when his thumb brushed the half-healed micro-incisions at the base of his neck. The camp doctors used nano-surgery to implant them with special augments that improved coordination for this mission. Now tiny nodules ran from the base of his neck, over his shoulders and chest. They were warned about side-effects like a burning sensation and light headaches, he counted himself among the lucky few who didn't feel a thing. His muscled body, forged from days of laboring under the hot sun, made sure of that.

Sitting in a climate controlled leather seat felt foreign after two years of sleeping on nothing but cold sand and granite. The training was unlike anything a man could prepare himself for. It brought each operative to his breaking point with intensive psychological warfare. Sometimes they were asked to partake in ambushes on controlled battlefields while fighting off chemically induced fatigue. On really bad days, they played tracks of family and loved ones screaming for help amidst the gunfire of a live round insurgent. Every man broke down at least once, but Josef persevered despite coming dangerously close to losing his mind. Instead he focused on taking it one day at a time. Not everyone survived. Not everyone was meant to.

His skin prickled against the harsh fabric of his jumpsuit, showing its first signs of post-surgery sensitivity. Joe frowned, maybe he wasn't as lucky as he thought.

"_Attention passengers, we will be landing in New York city, shortly. Please fasten your seat belts."_

Clicks snapped through the cabin as automatic belts latched over each occupant. The projection of a pacifying VI attempted to calm some of the more disgruntled passengers as their belts malfunctioned. Flight attendants rushed to help, never wavering in their artificial smiles.

Joe crossed his arms, leaned back and mentally went over the mission. It seemed simple enough on paper. They would hit the president's ground car envoy using a pincer attack then when the secret service swooped in to extract him, Aguilar would be exposed to sniper fire for exactly twenty-eight seconds. It was more than enough time to cut the head off the snake and halt the Alliance's rapid growth.

Joe's seat jerked under a swift kick. He rounded on the passenger behind him, only to come face-to-face with a child no more than five or eight, kicking at his seat. The tired father beside the little boy started apologizing, but Joe shook his head and smiled.

"Don't worry about it," he replied, testing out the American accent the camp beat into everyone. Of the surviving twelve of them, only six managed to speak it without sounding funny and they were all on this mission.

He tried to spot his field commander Shafiq in the rows, but a quick ping on his omni-tool made him stop.

_Hangar tarmac. 15 minutes. _

Less than an hour later, six members of the People's Liberation Army were cramped into the back of a utility van. Stringer pistols, Avenger rifles, ammo and one Hammer sniper rifle made their rounds, ending in front of Josef.

"We good to go?" Shafiq asked them as he stood at the end, one hand holding an avenger, the other grasping an overhead railing. No one understood how such a tiny man could be trusted to lead an operation like this, but Shafiq supposedly had more field experience than any other high-ranking PLA member. Which, if the rumors were true, meant that he immigrated to America and didn't do much else for the cause.

Josef looked to his pudgy commander and back to his rifle, unsure what to make of it. It was not that big a deal, but major changes on an operation like this were suspicious. Judging from the quiet of his team mates, they felt the same way. "We trained with Harpoons."

"The Hammer was easier to smuggle. Adapt or die, Josef," Shafiq said with a shrug.

Josef nodded and began modifying the sniper rifle to his specifications. By delivering the killshot, he was directly responsible for the success of the mission. The last thing he needed was anyone to start doubting him.

Carter checked the chamber of his Avenger and fixed the large oval sunglasses on his face. Out of all of them, he looked the most American second to Josef. With his pale white skin and love of football plastered squarely on the hood of his beat cap, he resembled the average dock worker.

"What are the marching orders?" Carter asked.

Shafiq struggled to maintain his hold as the van swerved and horns blared. They were no strangers to rush hour, but New York was setting a steep learning curve.

When their short commander regained his composure, he had to yell over the ambient city noise. "Alliance Ambassador Donnel Udina and the mayor of this city, Jennifer Steinberg will accompany the President. All three are high value targets, but it's the President we want first."

"Who is Udina?" Josef asked with a frown. "What happened to Anita Goyle?"

Shafiq laughed, his little pot belly jiggled with each breath but none of the team members joined in. "I forget you greenhorns were stuck in the desert. Goyle has retired. Udina is her successor and personally I'm glad. The man is a pompous asshole I would kill for free."

Josef tuned him out and continued preparing the rifle. He felt unprepared for such a significant change, but it really didn't matter in the big picture. This Udina still held the same position, his death would have the same intended effect. Aguilar was still the biggest target, only his death would force the Alliance Parliament on Arcturus to listen to the people of Earth with a much wider ear. There were still more than enough countries that wanted nothing to do with the Alliance and deserved to be heard.

"Change of plans. They're going to tour the mech facilities tomorrow en-route to liberty island," Shafiq rattled off, "they will also be using Sky cars instead of ground cars for the entire trip."

"If there are any mechs in that facility, we're done for," Carter commented, looking to his team rather than its supposed leader for help.

"That is why our job is to hit them on the road!" Shafiq said, bringing his face into the group.

Their other members, Dan and Kinney did not look amused but continued to hold their silence. Carter and Joe exchanged a look, wondering if maybe this was another test from the camp. A final hurrah at their expense.

"Out with it, come on," Shafiq prompted, tapping his foot. He was the only one wearing pearl white sneakers that stood out against his jumpsuit, another silly mistake. Everyone else had steel toed boots gleamed to a military shine.

Dan uncurled his thick arms and massaged his spots of augmentation with a stifled grimace as he faced their 'leader'. "Out in the open, we will attract attention and limit our escape routes."

"Not mention the drones we'd be exposed to," Kinney added, flicking his omni-tool to life as the resident techie. He took the electronics blackout the worst when they were back at camp. But within an hour of leaving, he transitioned back online seamlessly without skipping a single beat. Some people just couldn't live without the extranet.

The entire team was comprised of ex-soldiers, specialists and plain rookies like Joe. Dan was a tank operator in the Lebanese Army, before he grew tired of their Laissez-faire approach regarding the Alliance's intention to control Beirut. Sam, their driver, was a freelance journalist covering war stories until the PLA scouted him. He had more grasp on the political situation than any of them ever cared to comprehend. Together, they made a fully functional unit that Josef knew his father would be proud of.

Carter, the ex-French foreign legionnaire of English origins couldn't have been more than five years older than Josef and at least ten years younger than the rest, yet he spoke with the command of someone used to this lifestyle and when he did, everyone listened. Including Shafiq.

"We can still grab them in a pincer attack. But we'll need to setup on a bridge if we're gonna effective," Carter explained, cracking the stiffness from his shoulders with a loud pop. "They flying near any?"

Shafiq consulted his omni-tool and displayed the intended route in the form of a hologram that projected from his arm to the floor of the van. The miniature limo Sky Car sped along the Brooklyn Airway, directly over top of the bridge which still served pedestrian traffic and a newly built industrial tramway.

"Intelligence says this is the most direct route to the warehouses," Shafiq informed, if his information was to be believed. "We have our ambush point."

At Kinney's nod, Joe relaxed. But they had an even bigger problem, they had to disable the sky cars in mid-air and that left them exposed to return fire from whatever escorts they would more than likely have.

"What's our exit?" Joe asked, clenching his jaw when Shafiq fumbled with such a crucial detail.

"I'll be standing by in an NYPD A-59 Mantis Gunship," Sam called from the driver seat up front. Curious eyes fell on him, Joe noticed even Carter's mouth momentarily went slack before he recovered. "I've got my contacts. Don't worry about the escape vectors."

Josef wasn't born to worry, but when someone told him not he did the opposite. This entire operation seemed a little too well put together for such a last minute deal. Judging from the way Dan squirmed to get comfortable, he wasn't the only one having doubts. That or his implants were really starting to irritate him. Even Kinney was fanning his face with a datapad as they slowed.

"Anymore questions?" Shafiq asked, tapping his belly and looking each of them in the eye.

The van ground to a halt and Carter was the first one up, patting Shafiq on the shoulder. "We're counting on you, Commander."

"I will continue providing intelligence, just get the job done my brothers!" Shafiq declared proudly with a toothy smile that revealed one rotted molar.

Josef didn't say a word as his feet hit the pavement, it was all he could do to stare up at the monument of American achievement. The Brooklyn Bridge in the distance seemed to stretch on for miles, disappearing between the city and the sea as a tram honked its horn.

Sky car engines buzzed above and ground cars rushed below. The hustle and bustle of people, street music and city noise was a glorious sensory overload.

Carter stopped and tapped him with his bag. "Welcome to America."


	5. Brooklyn

Surveillance Time Stamp—November 2170

It was beautiful. The view of New York city from the top of a Brooklyn Bridge tower was unlike anything he had ever seen. While the swarm of sky traffic did not detract from the city's monolithic beauty. Gleaming steel towers poked the horizon, a symbol of prosperity and capitalism that kept the city going. There was virtually no trace of buildings from the old world, only the bridge towers were made of stone and they stood in dark contrast to the sky scrapers beyond. Ground cars shuttled on the mega highways erected for those who couldn't embrace the sky. They moved in perfectly straight lines like obedient little ants while those above soared overhead. Everyone knew their place and liked it that way.

Acknowledgement lights winked on his omni-tool. Joe hefted his sniper rifle and rested the bipod on the stone ledge of the tower. He wished he could have practiced last night, but between managing a searing headache and orders to remain anonymous, it was not practical. Now he only had one shot to make things right. His hand steadied despite the nerves.

The mayor's convoy entered his scope, a single air limo flanked by two Alliance gunships. He tuned out the cheers below as excited citizens gathered on the bridge to watch the fly-by.

His heart lurched but he swallowed the pain. He was used to ignoring it by now anyways.

Joe slowly started to squeeze the trigger, waiting as his cross-hairs aligned with the path of travel. The trigger pulsed beneath his finger, giving slight resistance under his index finger.

It wouldn't be long now...the shot would be heard around the world...

"ABORT!"

Joe stifled a cry and wrenched the ear-piece from his ear. They were supposed to be radio silent so he made sure to crank up the volume. Now his throbbing ear protested that decision.

"What is it?" He whispered into his comm while gingerly lifting the device to his other side.

Shafiq's ragged breath painted the wrong picture. If the fat man decided to run, it must have been for a very good reason. Joe followed the convoy with his eyes, resisting the urge to carry out the mission anyways. "Intel...this is...decoy."

"Take a breather there, Commander," Carter's voice interjected as he poked his head up from the adjacent tower. "If this here's a decoy then where's our target?"

Joe didn't like the calm quality of Carter's voice, it should have sounded more like Dan's as he started chewing Shafiq out through the comms.

"What's our next move?" Joe asked, before the yelling match could waste anymore precious time.

"Below!" Shafiq informed, and they could all hear the strain as he tried to remain composed. "The President, Mayor and Ambassador took the tram below us. It will speed past in ten minutes. Get down there and board it!"

Carter peered over his corner of the tower and whistled. "It's a long drop. Took us thirty minutes to get up here in the first place, so unless you packed a shute..."

The air convoy was long out of range now, but Joe saw the tram pulling a curve as it approached their station. Grabbing the rope that was meant to keep them from rolling off the ledge in their sleep, he looped it around his waist and jumped over.

"What the bloody hell?" Carter's voice rang into his ear as the wind rushed past.

Josef didn't reply as threw his weight towards the wall and used the friction of his gloves and boots to slow the drop. It was still four meters between him and the roof of the tram, but that would have to be enough.

"Follow his example!" Shafiq yelled as the tram screeched past him. "It won't stop for the civilians; you will have to jump on."

"Just hang on a minute, that's suicide!" Carter argued.

"I'm going in," Joe replied and cut his cord just as the train sped closer.

Everything they taught him about hard landings came in handy as Joe curled himself in a ball and hit the tram's roof only to roll to his feet and grab a ledge. The force nearly ripped his shoulder from its socket, but after everything they've done to him he was used to the pain.

Fighting air pressure and balance, he crawled towards the nearest hatch and heard two thuds impact behind him. Dan and Carter were atop the second tram car while a scream from Kinney announced his fate.

Not one to be dissuaded by loss, he clambered towards the hatch and swung it open against the wind. When he tumbled inside, the hatch snapped closed behind him.

"Good work, Josef," Shafiq whispered in his ear. "Now find your target and complete the mission."

"Carter and I made it too. Kinney did not," Dan announced on the comms as Josef brushed himself off and stood. "We have infiltrated the second car."

"Roger...that," Josef huffed. Apparently he underestimated his injuries as his shoulders and back flared in pain, nearly pitching him head first onto the rocking floor.

"You alright, Joe?" Carter asked, "you don't sound too good."

"I'm fine. I will search the train cars starting with the first one here and working backwards towards the middle," Josef announced, clutching his shoulder as the implants throbbed within it. This felt like more than a simple side-effect but there was no time to check. Instead he dismissed it as a sprain and moved on.

"Dan and I have the rest covered, we'll meet you in the last one," Carter said with a laugh. "Just be careful you crazy daredevil."

Joe signed off under the guise of maintaining radio silence, but in truth he just wanted all the voices to leave his pounding head as he listened for the enemy.

Shadows swept across the glass pane of the compartment door. He recognized the ridge of heavy armor and got into position. The pistol remained holstered at his hip. As much as he wanted to draw and take them out quietly, he couldn't pull the trigger on people who were just doing their job. Unless they made the fatal mistake of wearing Alliance armor.

Sitting in the shadows was easy. The guards didn't see him as they entered the tram car and once their heads were distracted by the clatter of the loose roof hatch, they were swiftly incapacitated.

He snagged their omni-tool radio frequency and rushed forward, ready for whatever came next.

Thirty minutes of confusion, sabotage and visceral hand-to-hand combat where he was nearly forced to draw and fire brought him to the final door. Joe shoved the last bulky guard through the partition. The secret service armor was tough enough to shatter the locked door and saved him the effort of trying to hack it.

Josef limped forward despite the flush of pain across his chest. But the pistol click on the other side made him freeze.

Carter stood with his pistol drawn. President Enrique Aguilar was beside him, calm and collected. The total opposite of Mayor Jennifer Steinberg and Ambassador Donnel Udina who cowered behind him. On the floor between Joe and his targets was Dan, his lifeless eyes wide in surprise, staring up at Josef. It didn't take a detective to see that the symmetrical hole in his forehead silenced him for good.

"What are you waiting for? Shoot him!" A grumpy older man yelled from behind the mayor. Udina without a doubt.

"Councillor, I urge you to stay calm. Everything is being taken care of," the President replied, but Joe could see the strain it took to keep a light and professional tone. Commendable despite the circumstances.

"Thank you, officer," the mayor said to Carter, even as her legs quivered and she pressed her back against the metal wall as if hoping to disappear completely.

"Ms. Mayor, please make sure the Ambassador stays in one place. One might catch more than a fly in the wrong position," Carter warned, eyes squared on Josef the entire time. "It's over, Joe."

The President stepped forward, intent on a peaceful resolution but creating a security nightmare for Carter who stuck a hand to stop him. Joe used the minor distraction to swiftly clear his own pistol from its holster and aim it square at Carter's chest. Unlike the guards, their squad did not come with armor. A single shot to center mass would end it all. "Move or I'll move you."

"Is that the best line you've got?" Carter snorted. "Come on, Joe. You saved my life back at the camps, I only want to return the favor. Drop your weapon."

Josef didn't say a word as his mind calculated the perfect trajectory for his first and only shot in this mission. He was going to die. He accepted that the moment he put on the jump suit. But he was going to complete the mission first.

"We can resolve this peacefully," Aguilar insisted, holding both his palms out in a pacifying gesture. "Please, tell us what you want?"

"Money!" Udina yelled, moving away from his corner but Carter stepped with him and corrected his near-fatal mistake. "Just line his pockets!"

"Don't move, Ambassador!" Carter yelled, trying to keep his body split between both of them and the bullet. "He doesn't want money. He wants peace, freedom and all that good stuff he already has. Don't you, Joe?"

His temper bubbled dangerously close to the surface but Joe yanked it back, knowing this was just a form of psychological torture from a traitor who was stretched thin trying to protect three assets. He was at a disadvantage and trying to even the playing field.

Joe took a step forward and nearly hurled. His balance swayed as his vision blurred from the simple movement. The back of his neck was on fire and he was itching to pull the trigger.

Udina shielded his head with his hands and scampered further behind Carter. The mayor gasped in fright but so far showed more resolve than her cowardly friend. Only the president remained consistently in control as he watched the situation play out.

"You're an amazing soldier, Joe. I can get you a good deal if you back out now," Carter bargained, being careful to step in such a way that Joe had no clear shot. "Those implants are malfunctioning, don't you at least want to know why?"

"No." Joe squeezed the trigger but his hands didn't comply. Surprised by paralysis, he was helpless as Carter fired a dart into his bicep .

The effect was instantaneous. Colors swelled and blurred with afterimages as he crumbled on unsteady feet. His head hit the cold tile of the ground and all he could do was stare helpless at the moving blobs before him. The one that used to be Carter knelt down to check on him before the world went away.


	6. New York's Finest

Surveillance Time Stamp—November 2170

Lights...he tried to blink away their sparkle but his vision remained blurred. It was as if someone put him in a bubble and tried to talk to him. No points of reference, no faces, just voices that demanded different things.

"_Who are you?"_

"_What's your faction?"_

His lips moved but Joe couldn't hear his own reply. It felt like a dozen cotton balls were stuffed down his throat and lead weights were pressed to his chest. He couldn't move, couldn't see, couldn't breathe. He was completely at their mercy and hated it.

He had been trained to keep time during phases like this, but his mental count stopped after forty-eight hours. There was no point in remembering the time if every moment felt like death. Some time later, swabs swiped at his neck, numbing the skin before searing pain made him pass out. It felt like his shoulder and chest cavity were being ripped out, the procedure continued long after he could taste the blood in his hoarse throat.

"All I'm saying is he's saved my life, Captain," a familiar voice argued in the background. "You've read my report. The brainwashing, the implants, it's not entirely his fault."

"He's coming too. Go, we'll pick this up later," a feminine voice said, before methodical boot steps sounded closer to his side.

Josef kept his eyes closed; it's not as if he could see anyways.

"Rise and shine," the voice prompted, sending puffs of air to wash over him. "We know you're awake. The machines tell us everything."

"I..." Josef paused as his ears rung in recognition of his own voice. "I...can't see," he croaked out, doing his best to keep the fear from his words as he kept his eyelids shut.

"Might help if you open your eyes." The boot steps circled to his other side. "That garbage they fused into you was responsible for most of your sensory discomfort. We removed it."

Joe swallowed what little moisture collected on his tongue and cracked an eyelid. The amused face of a woman with warm brown eyes smirked back to him. She seemed to be in her early forties, maybe younger, possibly Hispanic but he couldn't be sure. Being able to see again was like receiving a second life. He would never take sight for granted again.

But his relief funneled dry when sensation returned to his body. Not only was the back of his neck on fire, his shoulders and chest throbbed in pain as if someone tried to ignite his skin.

He searched her for answers, frowning at the badge on her hip. The NYPD slogan of New York's Finest was emblazoned on the golden metal.

"Never mind the badge," she said, eyes never leaving his. "You have bigger problems. The secret service has been working you over for the past week. Do you remember anything?"

Joe contemplated remaining silent then gently shook his head, cringing at spike of pain the movement elicited. "I have nothing to say for the Alliance dogs."

She didn't seem too surprised and moved to the foot of his bed. "Your friend Shafiq sang like a bird to my friends at the secret service. He's given all of you up and now that they're done with interrogations, there isn't much use for you. I'm your only friend here."

"He would rather die than give up the..." His brow furrowed, the name of his faction was on the tip of his tongue but his brain refused to provide it. Josef took mental stock of his situation. His wrists were bound to the bedrails by cuffs, he wasn't strong enough to even attempt sitting up and his vision and hearing were only now returning to his control. He had to watch what he said.

The woman nodded knowingly as if witnessing his thought processes. "Memory loss is a common symptom of O-E. Do you remember anything? Anyone? Your own name?"

Josef thought long and hard about his own name, but couldn't get past the first. Anger bubbled in his system as the faces of his mother, father and Malik filled his mind's eye, everything was right there but none of it tied to a last name. It was as if someone excised the important parts of his life from memory and left the rest. He glared at her. This was some trick, it had to be, he had never heard of this O-E. Why was he here?

The door creaked open and a bald man with eyes bulbous eyes poked his face in with an apology. "Captain Montoya the secret serv—"

"Leave us," the woman ordered, without even looking at him. The man fidgeted at the door, looking ready to apologize for his own birth until she finally spared him a glance. "You're not as dumb as you look, Sargent Klassen. Stall them!"

Orders received, the Sargent gently bowed out and left them alone. The distraction allowed Josef to scan the tiny room, it resembled a storage shed than any hospital he had ever visited. Just the bed, beeping monitors that were connected to various parts of his body and a single chair were present. Somebody wanted to make him disappear and were doing a good job of it.

Devastated by the lack of recollection, Joe focused on the sounds beyond the door. His only means of escape now.

"Josef Rikshaw," she began, pausing to read his reaction as she took a seat at the rickety guest chair. "I've heard so much about you. Don't tell me the rumors of your lively personality are false?"

At the mention of his name, his memory rushed back with perilous force. Everything from his first breath to the last mission flashed before his eyes and produced a nervous bead of sweat near his brow. He lost. The target was alive. He had called a traitor his brother and now the Alliance would no doubt wreck his homeland over this entire mess of an incident. His sacrifice was eventually for nothing. As these thoughts swirled into a dangerous cocktail of guilt, Rikshaw craned his neck in her direction. "Why didn't you kill me?" he asked, as the full realization of his loss hit him.

"I was returning the favor." She smiled grandly, clasping both hands atop her neatly pressed black dress pants. She didn't need to wear a uniform, her light blue blouse was a color match for the NYPD. "You didn't kill a single member of the guard detail. Impressive, considering your disposition."

"They were good people doing an honorable job," he said through grit teeth. There was no use empathizing with the enemy, but he couldn't help it. They put up a good fight on tram and deserved his respect. "My fight is not with them."

"You don't think the people of the Alliance are doing an honorable job?" she challenged, leaning back in her chair.

His thoughts swirled around President Aguilar. He was brave that day, seeking a peaceful resolution unlike his cowering companion. "Not if they're like Udina."

Montoya laughed loud and unabashedly. "I wish you understood how right you are."

Rik looked up to her with a frown. His comment wasn't meant as a joke, Udina truly was a coward if his instincts told him to hide behind a woman when things got rough. He was ready to write Alliance leadership as weak willed, until the image of his own so-called commander came to mind. "My team..." he trailed off, catching himself before he said too much.

The Captain's predatory brown eyes registered his discomfort. She sat up taller, her voice adopting the edge of a warning bell as she spoke. "Your friends are dead. You would be too if it weren't for Carter. Those augments were highly experimental and if he didn't sedate you, they would have liquefied your entire nervous system."

As the silence grew as her knowledge started to penetrate his psyche. How did they know so much about the operation? How did they know to set up a mole? Was Carter the only one? The thought of more NYPD officers training undercover alongside his brothers in the Sahara made him sick with rage. Their kingdom, their sanctuary was sullied by these invaders who were happy to let the Alliance enslave them forever.

He refused to believe anything she said. There was still time to turn this interrogation in his favor if he could get his tired body to obey his commands again. His spine still burned with aftershocks but Joe wasn't ready to give up.

"You know I thought Zaeed was full of shit when he mentioned you," she said, eyes narrowing in challenge.

Joe's ears perked up. The name triggered a twisted face in his mind's eye as he remembered the mercenary from Skybar. "The Alliance dog."

"Zaeed?" she looked incredulous for a moment, shaking her head. "That man is the best freelancer through-and-through, young man. I'm surprised someone in your line of work would ever lump him with the Alliance."

Feeling his jaw muscles bulge under the pressure, he looked away from her disapproval. He didn't need her looking at him like some disappointed parent.

"He saw you coming from a mile away." Montoya stood and loomed over his bed, arms crossed as she regarded him. "You were flagged and tagged as a potential security risk after that incident at Skybar, secret service's been following you since. Can't have you terrorists running around ruining the world, can we?"

Ice spiked through his nerves as the jolt of her words hit him. Her intimate knowledge of what made him tick was unnerving. It also shattered the belief that she was bluffing. Captain Montoya had all the arsenal she needed to make him crazy and then slam him into a cell. So why didn't she? "I have failed. I don't care what happens to me."

"That's what they want you to think." She grinned, baring her perfect white teeth."The truth is, that group you rolled around in the desert with, wasn't as patriotic as you thought."

"What are you talking about?" he asked. The PLA was the voice of the Lebanese people, fighting for the continued independence of Lebanon. His own father died believing that to be his cause. Her insinuation was absurd. "The PLA fights for the freedom of my people."

"You have a lot to learn and it doesn't help that you hate politics." She shook her head. "I won't get into it, but if you could sit there and tell me this isn't happening. I'll secede my point."

She flicked her omni-tool and displayed a holo-projection of GBC news. The running loop dropped his jaw as he read the development:

_Lebanon is the latest country to sign onto the Alliance. Lebanese troops will start assimilating into Alliance ranks as early as next week. This development is lead by the capitol city of Beirut, for what many hope is the continued prosperous relations between the United North American States and Lebanon._

It was a trick. All of it had to be a trick. He knew it. There was no way these talks could occur, not after the attempt on the president's life. But as his eyes scanned the running feeds, he noticed the clear omission of anything to do with the tram incident. Instead the news outlets reported a moving memorial presentation lead by President Aguilar. Even if this were a trick, she had nothing to gain by convincing him of it's authenticity.

Suddenly his entire role in the union became clear and he hated himself for it. "The president used details of the attack to broker a treaty between my country," he barked, seething with rage.

"Now he gets it." She nodded and killed the feed before clapping her hands. "You're a tough nut, Joe. But there's hope for you yet."

"I'm not playing your games," he said, hating how she toyed with him as if he were a small child. "Charge me, torture me, kill me. I will not break and many others will take my place."

"Which is exactly the problem you and I need to fix." She came to stand before him again, this time placing both of her hands on either side of his arm rests and leaning so close that he could feel her breath wash over his chin. "You should have seen yourself after the secret service was done with you. Trust me kid, you don't want that life. You might think Carter betrayed you, but he practically begged me to save your ass. Be smart and let me help you."

Joe looked away. This was foolish, he nearly killed their president and now they wanted to help him. Either the woman was insane, in which case he needed to end this as soon as possible or he was really dead and this was some deity's way of punishing him. "I would rather rot in jail."

She leaned back a bit and shot him a curious look. "There won't be any jail time for you. Just the chair."

"I will not work for you Alliance loving bas—"

Her hand struck his cheek, catching him off guard. It stung, but all the anger in the world couldn't faze her sudden intensity. "Wake up you stupid boy. We live among aliens now, have for a while. Humanity needs to band together and if that means bowing down to a bunch of Alliance fuck-ups then that's what we'll do to survive. No one and I mean NO ONE, is going to be free of their influence and considering what happened during the first contact war that might not be a bad thing."

His cheek stung but her conviction was infectious. Joe only stared in awe as the anger ebbed and flowed through the slight creases on her forehead. Her brown eyes bore into his, trying to convey a lifetime of enlightenment that he couldn't quite look away from.

It wasn't until the slight cough behind her that he noticed the other man in the room. Carter stood tall, he had swapped his jumpsuit for cobalt NYPD armor, minus the helmet. It made him look like those mercenaries in Skybar, someone formidable and not to be messed with.

The Captain smirked but didn't move from her position near his face. "What do you think, Officer Lowe? Does our friend here deserve a second chance or a second shot?"

Carter was disciplined enough to look straight ahead as he spoke, loud, clear and confident. "Ma'am, it is of my personal opinion that Josef Rikshaw would be an excellent addition to the force. But my concern is that he is too caught up in his campaign of hatred against Alliance forces to see the benefit of working alongside them."

Offer? He came to disrupt their way of life and they were giving him a job. Joe didn't know whether to feel amused or offended. "I want nothing to do with the Alliance."

"You're beginning to sound like a broken record." Montoya frowned, but her wane smile never faltered. She stood tall and clasped her hands behind her back as if contemplating his life. "My officers are some of the best in the world, Josef, but they don't have your passion. You'll also find our law is quite different from that of the Alliance."

Joe cocked his head to the side and watched her from his seat. "What are you saying?"

"I know where you're coming from, even if you don't." He wanted to dismiss that statement, but something in her gaze called out to him, some spec of empathy he had never seen in a soldier let alone police officer. "Your family history isn't exactly private. I know you had relatives working for, against and neutral of the Alliance. I also know they all perished in accidents, firefights and for just plain stupid reasons. So needless to say, I understand your distrust and anger. But we're not blind here. We know the Alliance has its fair share of corruption. Some of which has found its way into the governing body of this city. But it's a small portion of an otherwise excellent force," Montoya relayed, looking back to Carter who still stood at attention. "I have Lowe. But I need others like him, like you, to rid this city of that tiny tainted portion so that we can get back to protecting people, not covering our asses."

It was a lot to take in, but he swallowed his wonder and clung to the pertinent question. "Why me?"

"Because it's clear from your actions that you want a purpose, Josef." She headed past Carter and glanced over her shoulder. "I just gave you one."

When she was gone, Joe stared at the door and wondered if this all wasn't some elaborate drug induced dream caused by the camp psych warfare specialists.

When Carter unlocked his cuffs and offered him a hand, Joe looked to the gauntlet in disgust. Traitors were shot on sight. Yet the smiling one in front of him, still saw him as a friend. "No hard feelings, right?"

Joe didn't say anything as he glared to the other man.

But Carter took it in stride and tossed him a data pad from his pocket. It landed limply in his lap, the document heading read NYPD Police Academy Policies and Procedure Manual. "What's this?" Joe asked, forcing his numb hands to grasp the thin slate.

"I thought you could read?" Carter replied with a wink. "Those fuckers in the camps used you, Joe. They were going to fry you after you did their dirty work but this here's your chance to fight back." Carter gave him a congratulatory grin before walking out. "Class starts in two days. It's either that or the electric chair. Your choice mate."


	7. The Recruit

November 2170- West 94th street Columbus Ave Brownstone-Residence of Captain Renee Montoya.

The knife ceremonial was sharp enough. It gleamed against the sunlight, reflecting the many jewels encrusted on the handle. Joe never understood the purpose of beautifying things that did such ugly work, but beggars weren't choosers and it was the only weapon she had foolishly left on display.

It was only his second day under house arrest and they trusted an ankle bracelet to monitor his movements. Montoya was too trusting, too accustomed to his silent rebellion. Now she would pay. He grinned when he heard her on the front steps.

The door swished open, revealing the Captain encumbered by two brown bags of groceries. New York city bore witness as Joe yelled a guttural cry and rushed forward, knife steady in his grip.

What happened next took his breath away. Literally.

Burnt toast filled his nostrils as he lay on the floor twitching. For an older woman she moved extremely fast and his brain had trouble processing when she struck him. Joe could only control his eyes and they closed in defeat when the charged edge of her omni-tool swung above his view.

He recognized the slender design, it was not the popular Kassa Fabrication model but one made by Jormungand industries. A special issue security omni-tool that was recalled for its devastating effects. Users who couldn't control the output liquefied in their attackers, sometimes igniting fires in their own suits.

Now five thousand volts of electricity surged along his spine, keeping his joints immobilized. It was a miracle that his bladder and bowels were still intact, most didn't get that lucky.

Her gleaming dress shoes marched past his line of sight, before she crouched to pickup the scattered groceries. "Is that how you greet people back home?" She asked, stuffing a tomato back into the bag along with some apples and bread.

Josef coughed as he looked about. The knife was still in range and she had her back to him, a fatal mistake. He knew he could fight off the pain...

His fingers inched forward but grabbed the apple instead, then with weak fingers he offered it to her back. Montoya looked over her shoulder with curiosity. When his gaze didn't waver she smiled and took the apple from his outstretched hand.

That day he learned exactly why she kept him under house arrest and he never challenged her again.

Three weeks later, Josef stood in the bathroom, examining the souvenirs of his detainment. He traced the incisions that started at his shoulders and ended at his abs. The fine lines were healed, but their presence unnerved him. He put his trust in the camp doctors, never once questioning their decisions. They had served his father, they were like family. But shortly after he was released into Montoya's custody, Josef did all the research he could on O-E only to discover an ugly truth.

The people he called family were using him as a test subject and pawn. There were no strength enhancing augments lining his muscles, nothing to ensure he would survive the mission. Instead the doctors implanted nodules that released Omega-Enkaphalin into his system, a biotic suppressing drug used to contain asari prisoners. It was designed to erode eezo nodules in those with biotic potential, but being 100% human meant it started eating at his nervous system the second it was activated. If Carter didn't sedate him, he would be dead. Yet despite the betrayal, Josef held firm to his beliefs. His faction may have been a sham, but that didn't mean the Alliance was any less responsible for their crimes.

His eyes flinched as he watched the spider-webbed mirror; one day he drove a fist through it in a fit of rage. Now he regretted the incident as he stared at his distorted image. He would find a way to make it up to her, someday.

A knock sounded at the door. "You okay in there?"

Joe quickly buttoned his shirt and gave the small space a quick scan. In the weeks following his release, he had learned Montoya liked order. "I'm good."

"Hurry it up, I have something for you." He could hear her footsteps retreating on the wooden floor.

Captain Montoya was a strange woman. A condition of accepting her offer meant he had to reside at her estate in the upper west side. At first he protested, but after the knifing incident he was more than grateful to be in her company. She had taught him a great many things about New York and risked her badge to keep him out of jail.

When they first arrived at the brownstone, he was amazed at its spacious beauty regardless of how much he tried to hide it. The place was similar to Malik's penthouse back in Beirut. Perhaps a bit more Spartan than his grandfather's residence but 'lived in' nonetheless.

When he made his way to the living room, she was already seated on a plush brown couch, flipping absently through a paper-based album.

"Take a look at that." Montoya gestured towards the small ident card that every citizen was required to carry, lay on the coffee table. "You'll need an ID to confirm your registration to the police academy."

His thumb print registered the minute he touched the sensor. Everything was correct except for the peculiar spelling. "Joseph?"

She nodded with a smirk. "Two extra letters. Think you can handle that?"

"What's the point?"

"You're an adult at twenty-one on this soil, which means you're my adopted son until then." Joe confirmed her words as he scrolled the information. Sure enough her name and address made her a legal guardian.

"This is real?" he asked, holding up the card. He didn't like being under someone else's care but couldn't bring himself to protest. She did enough for him already, besides they had a deal and he intended to keep his end of it. Part of that meant joining the force.

"You can thank Lowe for helping you keep your name. But seeing as how we had to create a new identity, it only seemed right to change something," she said with a wink and patted the seat beside her. "Congratulations. We're snapping that bracelet off your ankle tomorrow."

Joe took a seat. She reached over the edge of the couch and nudged a black duffel bag his way. "What's this?" he asked, unsure if he should reach for it or catch the album that was balanced precariously on her knee.

"Open it," she replied, watching him expectantly.

With one eye on the album, Joe reached down and unzipped the bag. An NYPD hoodie along with several other cadet clothing items were inside. He smiled, not because he was about to be assimilated into a culture he knew nothing about, but because she went through the effort to care. He slipped the hoodie over his shirt and read the NYPD lettering upside-down. "Thank you. It fits perfectly."

Montoya clapped, letting the album tumble from her leg. Joe caught it just before it hit the ground.

"Those reflexes will save your life one day," Montoya remarked, taking the album back. But instead of putting it away she leaned back and opened the first page.

Joseph's eyes widened when they fell upon the first picture. He had always assumed she lived alone but the woman in the picture was happily ensconced the arms of a man who stood behind her. The brownstone provided the backdrop for the happy couple that laughed as they posed for the camera.

"Who is that?" Joseph asked, glancing between her and the picture. While he was far from nosey, he liked actually knowing things about the people in his life. It was a sign of respect his family instilled long ago.

"Someone I was mean to," she said, not masking the sudden hint of sadness that shadowed her features. "Your life is about to change dramatically, Joseph. Just try to remember that being an officer and being a human being go hand-in-hand. The law can't account for everything."

He nodded as she turned the page. They spent hours flipping through thirty-seven years of her life, and she wasn't shy about sharing details of her family. Three weeks ago he might not have agreed with her, her country or anything she said. But after getting a new lease on life, he was grateful that she let him get to know her.

Eventually she pulled the hood of the new sweater over his eyes and sent him to bed. His new life as a police recruit would begin tomorrow.

**~O~**

December 2170-NYPD Police Recruit Academy Phase I of training—Free weights Gym

It hurt to move so he didn't. Light spread across the inside of his eyelids and his lungs started burning from the aftershocks of the fight.

The camps were nothing. Training was focused on conditioning PLA to withstand physical and mental pain caused by _human _enemies. None of that prepared him for biotic and tech attacks from both alien and human specialists at the police academy.

It started as a simple hazing exercise. Instructors got in his face and called him out on being the Captain's so-called 'adoptee'. When he kept his mouth shut and didn't join in, things escalated until the salarian hand-to-hand instructor threw the first bolt. It was energizing, zapped his entire system that locked the 'fight' mode in. He was doing good with the two humans until more instructors intervened, biotic attacks entered the fray and then he found himself on the floor well and truly beaten. Joe's only comfort was remembering the satisfying crunch of an arm under his palm before they took him out. There was too much action to see which one of them he hurt, but knowing he didn't go down alone helped.

It also created a crowded floor.

"You mind...you mind...telling us what that was about?" the body beside him wheezed. From the indrawn breaths he estimated five recruits from his squad sprawled nearby. What he couldn't figure out is how they ended up on the floor with him.

Joseph licked his dry lips and spit out the tangy salt and copper blob. His nose stung from that small action, but his eyelids could no longer stay shut.

Blinded by the ceiling lights, he blinked rapidly to adjust and survey the damage. The police recruits were scattered all over the gym mats as if a hurricane ripped through. Matthias the turian, tried to get up on weak elbows only to kiss the ground. The others lay motionless like him, chests rising and falling as they fought for breath.

"Think you...owe us...an explanation," the female voice quipped. Joe lolled his head to find Lisa Walker with a black eye, a greenish-purple bruise on her forearm and a light smile on her face.

He sat up quickly and regretted it as nausea clenched his sore stomach. Before the academy it was hard as rock, now after a month of training and a single surprise attack, he was in agony. It was embarrassing.

Juan Sergio, the other human besides him and Lisa staggered towards them, careful not to trip over their team mates. He gave a bloodied smile and extended a hand.

"I didn't ask help," Joe replied, even as his arms quivered under the strain of staying seated. This was his fight, there was no need for the entire squad to get crushed.

"Big surprise." The other man scowled and moved onto Lisa who grasped it without missing a beat. The two of them stood, trying to hold each other up as they surveyed their wounded team. Their quarian member, Basira, was supported between Matthias and Khan. The latter being the first decent batarian, Joe had ever met. The big guy didn't seem to have that self-righteous attitude that the ones living in Beirut had demonstrated. It was a refreshing change to see aliens he could work alongside. Putting them in harms way just pissed him off.

"Don't hold it against him, Sergio. It doesn't seem to be his strong suit," Lisa jabbed, before hobbling to check on the other three.

Sergio eyed her carefully, as if each step was her last. Joe felt something tighten in his chest as a response, but swallowed it down. If he was going to survive this shit-hole, he didn't need anyone slowing him down.

"That true what they said about you? You're the Captain's adoptee." Sergio wiped his nose on his sleeve, painting it scarlet.

"Not by choice." Joe curled his legs and tried to rise, but the muscles tensed and he stumbled forward right into his teammate.

His first instinct was to push away, but Sergio's steady hand on his arm kept him upright. This was just what he didn't need, someone seeing him as a burden rather than a fighter. Lisa shot them a coy look, before turning back to helping the others.

Joseph ached to go back and change the ID chit they wrote up for him, but the thought of seeing Montoya disappointed kept him in check. Unless he read her completely wrong, she seemed proud to be his guardian. And if he was honest with himself, there was a small sense of pride at being under her wing. Even if he would deny it to hell and back.

"Doesn't sound like that bad of a deal," Sergio commented, clutching his ribs as he felt for the broken bone.

"I'm not some golden boy," Joseph growled. He had deliberately kept the information from his team so that they wouldn't treat him any different. "I'm here like the rest of you, learning to survive."

"Then prove them wrong." Sergio started walking and looked over his shoulder. "Lone wolfing it will only get you so far. A month of it clearly ain't working."

He frowned after his team. The small squad worked in tandem, not un-like his own cell back at the camp. But was it right to continue trusting them or was he building another bridge to disappointment?

The answers swirled in his head, producing nothing but another blood cough. It was only when Joe was all alone, did he realize that he didn't thank any of them for jumping in.

~O~

January 2170-NYPD Police Recruit Academy Phase II of training—Gilliam Survival Complex

"It was over in three days. Entire block levelled by Atlas mechs," Sergio told his captivated audience as he recounted his encounter with the Alliance. "Best part is, after the Alliance took over the Bronx, NYPD fought to re-instate control." He ran a hand over his buzz cut. "I'm glad they weren't ready to serve my hood on a silver plate. Living under Alliance control was like being chucked into fascism."

"I'm just happy it's all over," Lisa said as she wiped her rifle scope and set it on a mat before the fire. They each agreed to take turns servicing their equipment while rotating duties. But with storytelling hour, it seemed as if most of them were letting their guard down. Joe watched over their prisoners, tied in a net and hoisted four meters above ground. He knew if they were in a PLA camp, failure meant a cattle prod to the shoulder blades. These guys were lucky.

The three captured members of the red team, didn't put up much of a fight as they swung in resignation and tried not to sit on eachother's limbs.

"What about you, Rikshaw?" Sergio taunted as he fanned their campfire. "Any tales of rebellion from inside the Captain's mansion?"

Joe shot him a sharp glare but didn't rise to the bait. He knew they were curious, but it would be a big security risk to talk about his homeland.

Lisa stopped working on her rifle and stared in his direction. The other three members of their team looked between Sergio and Joe, trying to judge if they needed to prevent a war.

Sergio tossed another log into the fire, its sparks briefly lit up the night. Joseph steeled his jaw and turned his back to his task. Graduation was just a few weeks away. After the final test, he would be free of their questions.

The sound of light footsteps brought Matthias to his side, with his newly cleaned rifle hefted against his shoulder. "Go have some, fish. You've earned it, Joe."

He preferred to stand guard, but the smell of roasted fish was too inviting. The only pity was that it had to be eaten amidst a curious bunch. When he sat down, Basira handed him a small pickerel on a leaf while Khan tossed him a water pouch.

He took a bite. It was well done, especially since it came from someone that was forced to eat dextro-tablets for the duration of the exercise. "This is good," he commented to Basira who straightened at the praise. It was hard to tell with the suit, but he imagined her to be in her teens because she looked up to him like a little sister ever since he took a stun round for her two weeks ago. His back throbbed at the memory.

Lisa's imploring green eyes held his as he took another bite. "Did you guys hear about Beirut?"

Joseph silently chewed the last piece of fish, refusing to give anything away. Montoya kept him up-to date with the news of the disaster in his homeland. He couldn't explain the feeling in his chest at the mention of his homeland. It wasn't love but it was far from hate. It felt...foreign. Its beauty filled his mind's eye, but he couldn't imagine the current level of devastation. One of the Alliance's eezo refinery's exploded.

"I hear it's lovely," Basira spoke up, swiping at the shawl falling around her helmet. "I wanted to stop there for my pilgrimage at one point."

"My dad had to travel there for a press junket," Matthias added with a shrug, "says it was nice. Not so much anymore."

Sergio smiled with a chuckle and threw another stick into the fire. "There was an accident at the mining refinery. Entire North side of the city is still covered in eezo."

Joe finished his meal and set the empty leaf down. Montoya sent letters, not emails and the paper burned bright when he lit them on fire. He didn't want to believe it when he read the news, but now it didn't matter what he believed. It happened. "The Alliance signed a treaty with the government of Beirut. The country would remain autonomous and free from any Alliance interference. All they had to do was turn a blind eye to eezo mining," Joseph summarized to no one in particular.

"Seems like a bad decision in hindsight but I'm sure they had their reasons," Lisa whispered, re-assembling her rifle as she worried. "Did you have family there?"

His thoughts turned to Malik. Alive well beyond his years, spending the rest of his time locked in a mansion while people tended to his every need. "No."

If the others didn't believe him, they kept their silence as they swapped jobs. Basira took the resting position from Khan. Matthias started poking at the prisoners with the barrel of his rifle, riling them up for fun.

Sergio came up to him and bent down. "You were good today."

"I don't need you to tell me," Joe said evenly.

The other man nodded again, smiling as Lisa stood and shot him a warning look. "All I'm saying is, thanks for giving a fuck and saving Basira back there." Sergio stood and dusted his pants. "I just think you could do better. We're not asking for a fucking hero, just someone we can trust."

With that Sergio stepped past him to Matthias. Joseph had long given up trying to make sense of Sergio. He didn't care for the other man's attitude or how the entire team looked to him for guidance. All that mattered was surviving three more weeks and getting out of this hell-hole fully equipped to fight the Alliance. Nothing else.

"Ignore him. You're doing great and I'm glad you're here," Lisa said as she walked away.

The curve of his mouth twitched into a grin.

**~O~**

February 2170-NYPD Police Recruit Academy Phase III of training—NYPD graduate parading grounds-"BBAT" mission-based complex.

Three months weren't enough to learn about the law. There was no time to recognize the many bills, rights and codes the citizens were expected to abide by. There was no time to learn and understand what people were capable of when given little choice. There was no time to second guess yourself in an obstacle course when biotics zipped past your ears and shock from overloads ignited your bones. But graduation came around much faster than any of them had anticipated.

"Joseph Rikshaw!" The announcer spoke into the mike.

Joe stepped forward and shook hands with Lamont Dredger the Deputy Chief of the academy, also known as stoney face on account that he never smiled. The team blamed him for their slightly more violent academic run, but Joe shook his hand firmly. In his eyes, Dredger had prepared them for the very real world beyond these walls. That was a gift no one else could bestow.

Drones snapped pictures while a tech came up and held a box out to the older man. He took the articles delicately and presented them to Joe with a warm smile beneath his silver mustache. "Do some good with these, son."

"Sir." Joe stood at attention and let the man pass. They were showered with a few guest speakers and special mentions before the ceremony concluded.

Rik smiled as he read the new line on his ident card, Officer Joseph Rikshaw, NYPD badge #2532. The silver badge of an NYPD officer felt right in his hand.

"Congratulations, Joseph," a woman said from behind him, "and my replacement mirror is perfect. Thank you."

The voice registered and he snapped to crisp attention. "Captain!"

"You can relax now, you're no longer a cadet," Captain Montoya reminded him. She came dressed in her ceremonial blues like all the other officers in attendance. "Malik would've been proud."

Joe frowned. "Would?"

Her in-drawn breath gave her away, but he could see the carefully calculated apology before she spoke a single word.

Sargent Klassen and Carter Lowe came up to flank her. Klassen looked bored to tears, while Lowe offered an earnest smile. "I told you he could do it, ma'am."

"Did you?" The Captain taunted as she stepped back into the role of the Captain he'd met months ago when he was tied to a chair. "Come on, Joseph. You have some people to meet."

She steered him away from the fanfare and watched him closely. "How are you adjusting?"

His sensitive ears had no trouble filtering out the rest of the ceremony thanks to the standard augments that all police officers had. Improved eyesight, hearing and reflexes took some getting used to.

"The augments are fine," Joe lied, as the seed of an oncoming headache throbbed in his skull. But he didn't want to waste another second if Malik was in trouble. "I'm going to Beirut."

"You can't go back, Joe." She stopped them in a quiet corner, eyes scanning him as she no-doubt assessed his condition.

"Why?"

"You know why." She kept a comforting hand on the shoulder where he had been shot. The long-healed wound throbbed beneath her touch but he didn't flinch.

As much as he wanted to ignore the news—always seek visual confirmation—as his instructors told him, the sheen to her eyes was all the proof he needed. There was no longer a home to go back to. No longer a grandfather to visit.

Joseph looked down to the only things he had left in the world. The NYPD omni-tool attached to his right arm and the silver badge of an officer clenched in his left fist.

"The Alliance has evacuated the south side of Beirut before Element Zero hit their atmosphere." Montoya looked around, eyes settling on the other recruits that were surrounded by family and friends. "The North is still under containment."

"There's nothing left," he stated more to convince himself than anything else.

"You will stay with me." Montoya put her hands behind her back, staring him down like a general. "Don't even think of arguing because you're technically still my adopted child."

His twenty-first birthday was only a few months away but he wasn't about to argue. His world had gotten smaller and Joe was ready to take all the help he could get in this strange new place.

"Captain!" Two voices chimed in unison as they stood at brisk attention.

Montoya smirked and waved away the formality as Sergio and Lisa greeted her. "If you two keep that up, you'll inflate the ego of your precinct lieutenant."

They both reverted to ease with relief. "Thank you, Captain," Sergio said, "it's a pleasure to meet you in person."

"Let's see if you'll still like me when you get your new assignments." She moved on with a wink and left Joe to deal with their questions.

"She's kidding, right?" Lisa asked with a raised brow. They had been told Captains had no say in new recruit assignments, yet Montoya's giddiness told him it couldn't be further from the truth.

"No." Joseph stowed the badge in his dress uniform pocket. "Did you receive your section assignments?"

"That's what we wanted to ask you," Lisa said, pulling the new recruit orders on her omni-tool. "Khan and Basira are going to Brooklyn's 67th precinct, general patrol. Matthias is going to the 107th in Queens, also GP. It's only us three that are on special assignment, reporting to the 24th."

"Think Golden Boy pulled some strings for us?" Sergio asked, flicking the golden braid looped over Joe's shoulder. It signified best in class, but Joe didn't pay it any attention. He was never one for decorations.

Lisa rolled her eyes at Sergio before turning to Joe. "What do we do?"

"What the order says." He saw Montoya beckoning him over and stepped past his new friends and colleagues. "See you on the streets."


	8. Cerberus

June 2176—Terra Nova Central Bank

"I'll kill him! You hear me? I'll do it. Stay back!" The suspect clutched a squirming volus to his chest as he backed towards the front doors.

Bank staff and customers stared agape at the scene, throwing inquiring looks Joe's way. He made calming gestures with his hands, urging everyone to stay where they were.

"It's over. Let the volus go and you might live to see a trial," Joe said, knowing that negotiations weren't his strong suit. He just needed a clear shot.

The suspect was now at the glass door where ten cruiser cars blocked his way and at least twenty officers had sights on him. Joe could already hear tac teams through his comm helmet as they got into position, surrounding the bank.

"This is Sergeant Denton, what's the situation like inside, officer?" The voice was not familiar to him. His helmet HUD reacted by displaying the Sergeants image, name and rank on-screen as it verified the voice on the other end. The green acknowledgement light lit up and the Sergent's entire service record scrolled down the screen. Not the most diligent of cops, letting two armed robbery suspects slip as well as tampering with evidence. Yet, he would take an incompetent cop over a corrupt one.

"This is Sergeant Rikshaw, badge #2532. I need the suspect alive. He's connected to an active classified investigation." Informants said the armed man was supposed to be Michael Moser Lang, the ski mask and sunglasses over his face made facial ID impossible. Voice analysis couldn't find a match to the database.

The Sergeant scoffed on the other end, not used to newly minted Sergeants giving him orders. But Joe didn't much care what he thought.

Michael froze, considering his limited options as he frantically glanced between Joe and the door. The volus had yet to say a word, only the steady hiss of the breather let him know the alien was still alive.

"You think I will bow down to the Alliance?" Michael yelled. A low chuckle escaped the mask as he mashed the gun barrel against the volus' spongy suit. One shot and it would all be over.

"Sorry we're late to the party, I have a clear shot, Joe. On your word," Lisa's voice crackled in his ear.

"Now just a damn minute—"

The Sergeant's voice was cut off and replaced by an aloof methodical one. "Situation's under control outside, we're ready if you need backup," Sergio announced. Knowing they had taken over the scene put Joe at ease, but he still had a nervous suspect a tremor away from pulling the trigger.

"Hold fast. I'm going to try and talk him down. Shoot him in his right shoulder if it doesn't work, volus is on the left."

Their acknowledgement lights winked in unison and Joe switched on his helmet's external speakers. "Michael, the people you work for are not PLA."

It seemed to work as Michael's pistol dipped. "What would a dog like you know about my cause?"

"I know you're angry—"

"Angry? Have you seen what they did to Beirut? There's nothing left!" Michael shouted, spitting onto the ground between them. "You dogs and your Alliance masters killed my people."

Joe had to bite down a careless response. The volus' life rested on every word, he couldn't let the loss of his homeland compromise the job. "If you die here, you won't be helping any of them."

"I don't plan to die. I intend to carry out my mission and deliver a crippling blow to this pathetic regime you call an Alliance," Michael rambled, squeezing the volus around the neck.

"You're surrounded." Joe stepped closer, keeping both his palms up. "The minute you hurt anyone, you're dead. I can promise you that, Akhii."

Michael's head cocked at the phrase in curiosity. "I am not your brother. You might speak our language but you're not one of us."

It was tempting to remove the helmet and continue the rest of this negotiation face-to-face in native Lebanese. But that was an unnecessary risk their negotiations instructor would have zapped them twice for even thinking of the option.

"We're investigating the eezo exposure accidents. You could help us make sense of what happened in Beirut." Joe's helmet read a decrease in heart rate as Michael seemed to calm down. "We can get justice for the lost."

The volus bounced on the ground, slipping from Michael's grasp. As soon as he was clear, Joe raised his Razer service pistol and activated comms. "Sergio, get the civilians out through the back door. I'm apprehending the suspect."

"Way ahead you."Joe heard the back door burst open as officers yelled for the witnesses to move out.

No one needed to be told twice as the entire room was vacated in minutes. Only the volus waddled slowly past, Joe.

"Thaaaaaaanks..._shhhh..."_

"Move," Joe commanded, waiting until the little guy was secure before moving towards Michael who only stared at the floor. Not moving an inch. "Drop your weapon."

The Karpov pistol that started this whole ordeal clambered onto the tiles. Michael didn't say a word, but Joe's HUD beeped at the change in core temperature. A scan of the suspect's body showed a heat originating from the brain.

"What's going on there? I'm reading a significant heat spike, Joe," Lisa said into his ear.

"Don't know. Stay focused. It could be—"

Blue biotic hues engulfed Michael. When he raised his head, white eyes met Joe's. "Take him out!" Joe ordered as he hurtled behind cover, blue energy kissed his shields, depleting them by fifty-percent. The officers who evacuated the civilians weren't so lucky as the warp struck and snapped their limbs.

Joe cut his channel before their cries could deafen him. Nothing in Michael's file mentioned biotics.

The windows shattered as Lisa fired two armor piercing plutonium tipped rounds. Both struck the invisible biotic barrier and clattered to the floor. "I'm swapping to warp ammo. His barriers will drop, but the kill shot is yours."

"Got it." Joe grimaced at the ineffectiveness of his weapon, locked between standard and incendiary rounds it would be useless until Lisa's intervention.

"I have asari and human vanguards standing by," Sergio added. "Say the word."

Joe dove behind a desk as his cover vaporized. "Negative. I'm not escalating this."

"But _he_ is," Sergio stressed. He could read the impatience in his voice, but it wasn't enough to justify a heavy force like the vanguards.

"What's wrong, dog? Did your masters forget about you?" Michael taunted as he swept a hand across the right side of the room and warped the furniture into a singularity.

"You let the hostages go, that's a step up," Joe yelled over the carnage as Michael charged his biotics. "Come quietly and you will be guaranteed a trial."

Michael flung the sphere of energy his way and Joe was thrown from cover. A sharp table leg caught him in the stomach, draining the last bit of his shields.

"I will destroy everything you three-headed dogs stand for," Michael announced as he loomed over him. The sunglasses couldn't contain the light from where his eyes should have been. Joe was frozen in wonder, before bullets from officers near the front door distracted Michael.

Michael swung another fist into the air and the front door exploded, showering everyone outside with glass.

Two more shots came from the window, this time the bullets did more than impact the biotic barrier, they dissolved into it and broke down the dark matter. Joe yanked his pistol and fired two incendiary rounds right into Michael's chest before he could detonate a squad car.

The fire licked Michael's inner shields, creating a nice distraction as Joe took the chance and leapt from his position a good nine feet into the air. His omni-tool transformed into a military-grade nano-fibre blade, all ten inches of the energized sword plunged into Michael's neck. Cartilage, muscle and bone parted like cheese. Joe landed from the heavy strike and caught Michael's dying body.

As soon as he yanked the blade out, thick aortic blood pulsed from the wound. There was so much of it that Michael had his own pool in seconds. "You call yourself justice, asshole?" he asked weakly.

"I'm not justice," Joe replied, as he retracted the blade. "I'm the law."

Michael coughed blood as he laughed. He struggled for breath as his lungs continued to fail. "Airi bi immak ya ibn el sharmouta," he sputtered.

"Urqud bissalam," Joe replied, holding the body tightly even long after Michael bled to death.

Thirty minutes later, Joe stormed into the squad room and glared daggers at his assembled team. "Biotics. How did we miss that?"

Sergio cracked his knuckles and leaned back. "We've been grilling asses all day. No one knew."

Joe whipped to Lisa, who typed furiously at her console. "I'm going through all of Michael's communications with his supporters. There's nothing about biotic implants or red sand."

"Dig deeper into his childhood, those records exist. I don't care if we have to go to Beirut to see when he was exposed to eezo," Joe demanded, wrenching his helmet off and slamming it onto the table. They swallowed their questions as he stewed over the fact that they lost their only lead on the PLA's activities.

The door opened and Carter Lowe popped his head in, the new rank of Staff Sergeant on his armor flashed in the light. "Captain wants to see you, Joe."

"I have a case to dissimulate," Joe barked, "it can wait." He wasn't about to let one case ruin the squad's perfect record. The twenty-fourth precinct's major crimes unit hunted terrorists and neutralized them _before _they were a problem.

Carter cocked his head in amusement. "This is the Captain, your _boss _in-case you've forgotten. I'll give you five minutes to get yourself together. After that, you're officially a sore loser."

When Carter left, Joe regained his composure and made a bee-line for Montoya's office. He knew what she was going to say, nearly a decade of living under her roof gave him insight on that front and it wasn't pretty.

He pushed through Montoya's heavy oak double doors and into her mid-sized office overlooking New York. Carter and Klassen were discussing something with her but quickly stopped at his entrance.

It was rare to see Klassen around the precinct. Ever since his appointment to chief, he was off doing things nobody cared about. Everyone thought Montoya was crazy for passing the position over to Klassen, but she was just happy to be rid of the useless lackey.

"Joseph, how you been kiddo?" Klassen asked, feigning a jovial attitude.

Joe's response was to cross his arms and wait. He didn't have time for formality, people were dying. "You wanted to see me, Captain?"

"Right on time," Montoya greeted, as she turned to her party. "Please excuse us. It was nice seeing you, Chief."

"Yes of course." Klassen's pudgy fingers curled tightly around his cap.

Carter followed but stopped at Joe's shoulder. "I stand corrected. You're not the _biggest_ loser here."

Joe suppressed a smirk. When they were gone he stepped up to his first failure. "I can ex—"

"Have you heard of a group called Cerberus?" Montoya asked, reclining in her chair as she thread her fingers together.

The name rang a bell, likely flagged in the hundreds of news reports overflowing his data-pad. "They were responsible for the eezo disaster on Yandoa. They also tried and failed to steal the SSV Geneva in 2156," he stated, scouring his brain to find a link. "Why?"

"I QA'd your audio logs," she said, eerily calm. The media was already out for blood in light of President Aguilar's assassination. Now his killer was lost to the afterlife, his motives forever unknown.

He knew he botched the negotiation. She didn't need to say it. "Capatin—"

"Horrible negotiation techniques notwithstanding, you struck gold." Montoya swiped her hand through air and pulled a holo screen of his transcribed standoff. "Your man mentioned a three headed dog."

Joseph frowned in confusion. That only elicited a tired grin from his adoptive mother. "It's a sad world where we train killing machines and forget to teach them greek mythology. Study it. You might learn something," she chided, before bringing forth Michael's autopsy.

Michael was barely recognizable on the metal slab. The pathologists did such a hack job that his body resembled a tied up piece of meat rather than a human being. Yet it was the medical examiner's report that had him shake his head. "No eezo nodules were found in his nervous system. That's not possible."

Montoya snorted. "I think you of all people had the truth literally slap you in the face." She tapped the report and scrolled to a rescinded news report. "This was the second time I've seen Cerberus in the news. The story was pulled 42 hours after it was published. Normally I wouldn't think anything of it, but the publisher, Constant Times, had changed ownership within that time frame."

A clipping of a business news paper, the text-heavy 'mainly for volus' edition lit up on her table. Joe grabbed the nearest data-pad and followed along with everything she dug up. "The news report claims that at the time of our president's assassination, Michael was wired credits to his account at Terra Nova Commonwealth bank. That account is now defunct. Both of these businesses are owned by CDR holdings, a Cerberus shell corporation which maintains shadow clearance to operate without oversight, just like other Alliance assets."

"So Cerberus strung him out to dry." The pieces started fusing together. "Then what was he doing there today?"

"That's what your team will have to figure out," Montoya answered. "They can't rule out a connection between Michael and Cerberus, no matter how small it is."

"I'll get on it." He started to walk away but her voice stopped him.

"Joseph, you know which cell Michael was operating under."

He cringed, not ready to have this conversation and hating every minute that it was referred to as a terrorist group. "He wanted revenge. Nothing more," Joe said, echoing Michael's mentality as if it justified the killing of a well liked president.

"Regardless, when the team makes the connection between the PLA and Cerberus, it will link back to you," she warned, jovial attitude leaching from her features.

"_If_ not when." He faced her. "We don't know if the PLA had anything to do with Cerberus at this point. Speculation is futile."

"Do give them credit," she said, inclining her head. "I can't protect you _if _they figure it out."

"I understand." He held up the data pad full of his first lead in months. "Thank you."

"Thank me when you're not dead," Montoya whispered as he retreated.


	9. Sole Survivor

September 2179-Abandoned apartment block, south Bronx.

Joseph took short shallow breaths as the smoke of gunfire died around him. This was the right place. Years of chasing shadows and leads that tied to Cerberus finally led him here.

Loki mechs littered the floor. One short-circuited and exploded under his boot. Two Fenris mechs lay on either side of him, their mid-sections completely bisected with an omni-blade.

Once the pistol beeped the end of his recharge cycle, Joe moved forward cautiously. He couldn't afford to storm the place, there was no one covering his back on this one. Montoya found the location first and dispatched him to Michel's hideout. It was likely that whatever he found would link directly to the PLA, and perhaps directly to himself. She bought him time to secure the premises and gain answers.

The peculiar sight of a pristine hallway gave him pause. Steel panels and tiles lined a path descending to basement, it was a sharp contrast to the rotting brick and mortar of the rest of the building. However built this place wanted the underground to last.

Joe descended, easily dispatching the auto-turret that tried to surprise him. Its giant metal head crashed to the floor from his overload attack.

Something felt wrong. This place put up a huge fight, there would naturally be more resistance inside, not less. Unless they didn't count on anyone making it past three waves of mechs.

Pistol extended forward, he took another step and froze. Miniscule sounds caught his left ear as if someone was trying to shush another person.

Joe aimed into a dark room, it looked more like a cell but it lacked bars. The power was out and a ceiling light dangled like a pendulum, too dead to even flicker.

His motion tracker picked up two heat signatures and Joe snapped into action. "Hands up, both of you!"

The two people were small, but that didn't mean they weren't deadly. Joe kept his guard up as they obeyed, raising shaking hands into the air but still concealed behind a wall. A scan revealed no weapons on either of them, but biotic potential was unknown. "Exit slowly. Keep both your hands where I can see them."

Two little people emerged, both male children wearing orange/white hospital gowns. Joe frowned, wondering what type of sick trick this was, but didn't lower his weapon even as they visibly flinched at the sight. Helmet HUD approximated their ages between 6 and 8 before starting an ident scan. "You shouldn't be here."

The youngest boy with trembled and began to cry, prompting the older one to speak up. "Is...is he gone?"

"Who?"

"The man...he went crazy. Killed all the scientists and other children...we hid, but..." His lip trembled but he seemed to fight off the emotion as the other one hid behind him. "The scary robots were upstairs...we didn't want to get hurt."

The scanner was still running at full speed not finding a single record on the boys based on their appearance. Every citizen was photographed and catalogued into the census databse upon birth. Either these kids were foreign or they didn't exist.

Engines revved outside. Joe engaged thermal mode but only got a static image from upstairs. They were deploying military grade jammers.

"Get back in the room," he ordered the kids, never lowering his weapon. "I'm going upstairs. Then I'm coming back for you." He was about to leave then paused. An action that usually got people killed, but for some weird reason he remembered his mother. His helmet retracted the lower part so that they could see his lips but nothing else. "I'm on your side. You're going to be okay." He smiled and that seemed to put the kids at ease as their heart rates decreased.

They nodded, hesitantly but no longer afraid and tip-toed back into the room. Joe secured the door again before proceeding upstairs.

He was at a disadvantage because the stairs forced him into a pigeon hole. Easy pickings for his new guests. Listening closely, he heard shuffling outside as the forces picked through machine bits. They weren't in the interior yet, giving him time to get back upstairs.

Joe took the steps two-at-a-time and hid from view just as the first group of soldiers entered the scene. From his position he saw the Alliance emblem on their blue uniforms and felt his finger twitch on the pistol trigger.

He sighed. That fight was a long time ago. Swallowing hard feelings he abandoned cover for the sake of the two children below. This needed to be as bloodless as possible. "NYPD," he called out, getting three laser sights in a grouping on his chest. "This is an active NYPD crime scene."

"Throw your weapon down!" One of the jar heads shouted, looking over the barrel of his avenger.

"State your purpose or I'm taking you in," Joe yelled back, keeping his aim steady on the biggest soldier. Three against one was not an issue, however the crunching of boots all around him was.

"Seriously? Think you brought enough cuffs there big guy?" A feminine voice sounded from the crowd of twelve Alliance soldiers. Joe looked for the source but she stepped out from the middle, her red hair fanned out as she regarded him with green eyes. None of them wore helmets. All of their grinning faces stared at him openly but his HUD was still being jammed and couldn't ID anyone.

"This is an NYPD crime scene. I have the authority to arrest all of you for trespassing," He explained, correcting his aim to rest on her exclusively.

"I'm sure you do." She scanned him with her omni-tool and nodded encouragingly. "But you're stuck with us, Sergeant Rikshaw."

She motioned for her team to lower their weapons. They did so without question and watched him cautiously. Joe kept his aim square over her heart, refusing to let up.

With one flick of her wrist, his pistol lurched from his hands and flew into her waiting one. She ejected the bullet block and let it clatter to the floor.

Joe analyzed his situation, taking mental notes of their proximity and weak points. The blade would take care of the closest cluster, but it was the woman and her team that would have long range advantage. Suddenly her face triggered a memory, before he realized he was standing in front of the sole survivor.

"1st Lieutenant Shepard," he said, wondering how anyone who survived Akuze would seem so easy going.

"Ah, so you do recognize me. I was beginning to worry," She said, motioning for her team to continue their work as she tossed him the empty gun back. "We have control, Rikshaw. If you don't like it, complain to your precinct. Though you might not want to do that."

He cocked his head to the side questioningly.

"Jammers!" she called, and suddenly the information on his HUD came back without the static. As did an update for the most current APB, his face flashed across the screen. His time was officially up and he had barely scratched the surface. "You pissed someone off."

Joe didn't say anything as he strode past her. "There are two children downstairs. They need medical attention."

Two soldiers at the door stepped up to block his way. "And where do you think you're going?" Shepard asked.

Joe squared his shoulders, ready for a fight. "Do you plan to take me in?"

"And do the police's dirty work?" She shook her head. "That's between you and yours. I have a useless safe house to secure and a babysitting detail. For what it's worth, good luck Sergeant."

The guards parted as he swooped onto his motorcycle and sped towards his precinct.


	10. The Good in Goodbye

September 2179-Memorial lane freeway. New York City, New York.

"Keep your hands up, Sergeant," Carter barked, weapon drawn and advancing.

Joe complied, cutting the ignition to his bike and raising both hands. "This is a mistake."

Carter nodded to his partner, a rookie cop and judging from the uniform practically his first day on the job. The young man whipped out the cuffs and strode right into Carter's line of sight. Maybe it was the adrenaline or his love of picking on the newbie's that made Joe reach out and loop an arm around the rook's neck.

It wasn't much of a struggle. The rookie panicked and flailed his arms, trying to claw at Joe's head. When he finally passed out from partial asphyxiation Joe let him crumple to the ground.

Carter holstered his weapon and smiled. "Wasn't sure if you got the message."

"I did." Joe activated the emergency beacon on his bike that signaled an officer in trouble and got into the passenger side of Henry's interceptor sky car. "The APB..."

Carter chuckled. "Your squad finally linked you to the PLA. They didn't want to believe it, but it's not like they had a choice." Carter pulled up and soared into the sky traffic. "Congratulations, you're officially a fugitive."

Joe settled into the bucket seat, one hand on the windowsill as he pondered that. He knew this day would come eventually, in fact it he was surprised it came this late and not the first day of training at the Academy. It just went to show how good Montoya was at forging papers. Or maybe how bad they were for not spotting him sooner.

The sky car interceptor descended not more than twenty minutes away in an industrial warehouse on the warf. Nothing but blue collar territory, a district for fights and noise complaints.

"You never cease to disappoint me, Carter," a voice greeted from the shadows of the receiving yard.

Carter beamed and crossed his arms. "I don't ever plan to, Captain."

Montoya gave him a weak smile as she stepped into the single ray of light the hole in the rooftop provided. Her eyes fell to Joe and for a brief moment he saw everything from great pride to pity on her worn features. "I don't have to tell you why we're all here, do I?"

Joe clenched and unclenched his fists, unsure of what to do with himself. They were technically supposed to take him in and while he knew Montoya wanted a few last words, he couldn't imagine what was so important she couldn't say in the interview rooms. "I may be finished, but Cerberus is still out there."

"You're far from finished, Joe." She gave Carter an apologetic look.

It was enough for him to nod and walk away, but not before patting Joe on the back. "I'd say it was a pleasure, but it's only going to get easier now that I don't have to cover your ass." Carter chuckled. "Take care of yourself."

Before Joe could dig into that statement, Henry was gone with a parting wink.

"I suppose my sense of humor is rubbing off on him," Montoya remarked as she started a leisurely walk towards the assembly lines. Crew men could be heard up ahead, drilling and getting today's shipments unloaded. Completely oblivious to the fugitive in their midst.

A fugitive...that word would take some getting used to.

"I found two boys on-site," Joe said, hoping to pass on as much info as possible before it was stripped from his suit and forgotten in some central reporting office. "The Alliance on-scene haven't located them so far."

"They shared their report?" Montoya asked with a raised brow.

Joe shook his head. "I'm monitoring their comms."

She smiled at that. "You think it's a cover-up?"

"Unlikely." He had a quick read through of Fiona Shepard's file on his HUD. She seemed too jaded to be involved in anything underground. "I suspect that after Akuze, she's just looking for answers."

"Just like someone else I know." Montoya shot him knowing glance, folding her hands behind her back as she looked onwards. "I don't need the report right now, son. You need to know what happens next."

"I'm taken into custody, interrogated on PLA/Cerberus secrets, stripped of my rank and badge and imprisoned for a consecutive life sentence on one count of an attempted act of terrorism. Second count of an attempted assassination," he rattled off, weighing his crime against the book of law.

Montoya gave a low whistle when he finished stating his punishment. "Judge, jury and your own executioner. I shudder to think that's a few centuries away."

"I'm guilty," Joe said, trying to make this easy. "I will take my sentence—"

"No." Montoya stopped abruptly, reinforcing her words with a cold glare. "You listen to me. I didn't adopt you, train you and turn you into the most effective policeman in the state just so you could fall on a technicality."

The raw emotion in her tone froze his heart. He couldn't remember the last time anyone fought for him like this, he liked to pick his own battles. It made navigating the field that much easier but with Montoya's trust and reputation on the line...it was not a matter of wants. "I'm guilty. I won't run," he stated resolutely.

The wind kicked up, flicking greying strands of her hair to obscure her eyes, but she didn't flinch in their starring contest. An older woman staring at the glossy machine shine of a police visor, it would have been comical had the circumstances been better.

Joe was the first to step away.

"Where are you going?"

"Back."

"What have I taught you?" She called out. Her exasperated sigh pricked his ears and made him stop. "It's not always about you, Joe. Never make it about you, you'll only get half the picture that way."

During his days as a rook she harped on this vital skill, making sure he was never blinded with biased emotions that could jeopardize a case. But these weren't some erratic emotions, this was the law and by its definition he was a terrorist. "I have to go back."

"You still don't see it." She shook her head and regarded him like an instructor. "Everyone you've cleaned off the streets, all the scum that's in jail thanks to you, the wife-beaters, the gang bangers, the child molesters, the dealers...every last one of them could walk free on this technicality."

He opened his mouth to argue but his mind shot to the section of integrity under the policing agreement faster than his HUD could pull it up. The full force of his predicament finally hit him as he considered the ramifications. "Every case...every case I ever touched would be eligible for a re-trial," he said, stammering for the first time in his eight year career.

Montoya shuffled past him, towards a more secluded area of the compound. "Now he gets it."

"They would use discretion," Joe urged, crossing his arms as he refused to believe it.

"The thing is, Joseph, you have 783 arrests under your belt. 532 of those are convicted felons who could taste the light of day if your name is dragged through the mud." Montoya led him through the processing and receiving decks and out to the shore overlooking a shuttle platform for off-world travel.

He caught her drift but refused to accept it. "If I leave, I will just be making their case for them. They will flag me in the system anyways."

"This is why you need to let me handle it," she said. He didn't like the edge of conspiracy in her voice, but didn't know enough about the back-doors of policing to convince her otherwise. "I'll pull enough strings to make sure everything is smooth again and those people remain where they belong."

"That's—"

"What I want," she cut him off abruptly, leaving no room for argument before dragging a large case from behind a shelving unit. "I brought you a change of clothes. You can't leave with NYPD armor."

Joe stiffened from within the suit. It had been an extension of his body since grad, not just boosting his performance but constantly improving it through force feedback. It looked bulky to any outsider, but felt like a second skin over his muscles.

Core systems started shutting down when his HUD switched to offline mode by her override command. A blast of ocean spray speckled his face as soon as he removed the helmet. The unfiltered air smelt so salty and humid he could taste it on his tongue.

Montoya left him to it and he took the required two minutes to get out of the suit and into a new pair of work overalls. He had just finished adjusting the blue windbreaker around himself. It fit exactly like the one he wore back when he wanted to assassinate the president.

When Montoya re-appeared with a sly smile he couldn't help but return it. "I thought it'd be a good fit occasion."

"It's a good disguise," Joe replied, looking at the dock workers farther out whom he now resembled. He was no longer Sergeant Rikshaw of the 24th, but another nameless faceless blue collar worker just holding down a job.

Montoya's hand on his cheek made him turn back to the older woman who had nothing but sympathy in her eyes. "My boy...I know this isn't easy but try to understand what I'm doing here is for everyone's benefit." She withdrew her hand and dug some physical holo-tickets from her breast pocket. "Your shuttle leaves in twenty minutes, that's just enough time to catch a ferry to the launch pad."

Joe looked between the woman who was like a mother to him and the waiting shuttle off in the distance. He swapped the handle of the suitcase stuffed with his armor, for the tickets. "I trust you," he said, not sure where this was coming from but knowing it needed to be voiced.

With that he handed her his badge and began removing the omni-tool from its place on his right arm. Montoya grasped his larger hand and curled it shut over the badge. "Keep those. To remind you of better times." She ushered him closer to the ferry and looked over her shoulder, scanning the skies for hover drones. "You're going to lay low in Omega. A friend of mine says they could use some good people. Once you're there, I know you'll find your place."

Joe nodded, even as his mind swam with questions, something told him to obey and get into the ferry as fast as possible. "I'll establish a connection as soon as I can."

She waved that away. "Don't be hasty. Just be careful!" The horn sounded as the last passengers hurried forward. Joe knew he should move, but his feet didn't want to work. That's when Montoya pulled him into one last hug which he found himself easily reciprocating. "Remember what I told you, life is for living. It's not always about the job," she whispered as they pulled apart. "Remember to live while you're up there. Do it for me."

Confused, alone but not one to show fear he nodded at her cryptic message and headed up the ramp.


	11. Omega: Day One

September 2179-Binary Helix passenger shuttle, en-route to Omega.

It seemed like no matter what he did, he couldn't stop shaking. Well meaning citizens tried to convince him it was just a fear of heights or the exhilarating feeling of breaking through the Earth's atmosphere. But Joe knew better. The tremors started all the way back at the ferry and didn't stop until they launched and hit FTL. This wasn't simple nerves, it was the fact that for the first time in nearly a decade he felt exposed without his armor. It was Beirut all over again, the only difference was that he was no longer the stupid terrorist intent on killing a president. Just the man with links to him.

Joe watched the Earth disappear as the shuttle sped up. The tiny blue orb that comprised much of his life was officially behind him.

The mix of human and alien passengers aboard felt surreal. Omega was touted as the last stop for the lowest of the low, but to see so many folks shooting looks of nervous desperation as they headed straight for supposed safe haven was puzzling.

A small old man with a toothy grin and a basket of fruit offered him an apple. "First time?"

"Not exactly," Joe replied, taking the fruit and just holding it in his palm. "Thanks."

"I can always tell a first-timer, son." The old man chuckled and rolled up the sleeves of his worn white dress shirt. Even his pants were pressed nicely with sharp creases complimenting the spit-shine of his boots. "Best advice I can give ya is don't believe everything you hear. Omega is a great city and there's a reason it's still standing."

Joe contemplated that for the rest of the twelve hour ride while cross-checking facts about the different districts on his omni-tool. However, the old man who introduced himself as old Pete was better than any archive data on the Extranet. He filled Joe in on Omega's more obscure history, informing him on everything from its humble beginnings as a mining colony to its present state of law and disorder. Unlike New York there seemed to be a much smaller police presence. Only 6% of crime events were attended to with most districts paying for private patrols, others were too far entrenched in gang warfare to be of importance. Essentially it seemed like Law and Order were words you were better off finding in a dictionary.

When they landed at the crumbling docks, Joe got his first taste of the fabled city. It took his breath away and choked him with a humid stench.

Horror stories of crime run amok and vicious gangs exchanging shots did not do it justice. Maybe it was the relative safety of the dock, or perhaps he was delirious, but the city smelled alive. The adrenaline rush of hearing Sky Cars overhead, zipping dangerously close to the pedestrian traffic below, was the drug his system needed. Just the simple of act of taking the next step seemed risky almost exhilarating in a way.

Joe passed some vorcha beggar and tossed him the apple as Pete lead the way towards the gates. As soon as they joined the extended lineup, Joe finally understood his relative ease. Up ahead, police officers wearing black Omega Metro inscribed armor dug through everyone's belongings. Some of the asari were frogmarched out for further interrogation, while the heavy-set batarian made a mess of another suitcase.

The batarian barked at some poor human and she clutched her little girl close, both of them backing away from the now confiscated item, a pathetic Raiku pistol.

The woman started stammering denials but the batarian only advanced, watched closely by the two helmeted officers who kept everyone else at bay.

"Did that sound like an option, woman?" The batarian growled. "Get to interrogation now!"

"Please, it was for protection. I don't want to hurt anyone." The woman pleaded with a whimper, all the while fighting off any officer that took a step towards them.

"I've always warned him about people skills," Pete muttered as the batarian flicked out a shock baton and crept closer to the woman.

Use of force was a contentious topic. Some believed that it invited escalation and made the situation more dangerous for the arresting officer, others thought it was inhumane period. And others like Joe knew it had its time and place.

This was neither.

The batarian swung his baton.

Half of it rolled on the ground, devoid of charge with a clean cut bisecting the middle. The other half was clutched uselessly in the batarian's fist. He blinked his many eyes in confusion.

All the attention fell on Joe who now stood between the woman and the cop. No one said a word. Then whispers flared alongside the officer's patience. Even his helmeted buddies ignored the sudden rush through the gates and surrounded the newcomer.

The batarian stood tall, letting the twilight bounce off his silver patrol badge, the name Korrigan carefully inscribed beneath. "The line starts back there, human. Though I'd be happy to show you," the batarian said, clenching his fists as he advanced to stand toe-to-toe with the intruder. "What do you say?"

"You're out of line. Go back to the sector house and learn to identify threats," Joe instructed in a perfectly calm voice that belayed confidence beyond their understanding.

The officers surrounding him laughed. One of them popped his helmet, a salarian, and stared at his superior. "I think he thinks he's better than us, Zane."

"I don't care what he thinks," Zane replied, inching closer. "I'm going to make an example out of him."

Joe could hear the woman behind him, but when he turned to check if she was okay he kissed gun as she pistol whipped him across the face. Joe staggered back as half the officers launched at the woman, but were engaged by the little girl's biotics. The other half, including the batarian surrounded him, marking him an accomplice. There was no time to explain his mistake. With adrenaline pumping through his blood and nothing to lose, Joe sprung his omni-tool and gladly launched into battle.

**~O~**

_A few hours later..._

_I'd like to see you again, Josef...I won't mourn you...life is for living— remember to live while you're up there..._The cacophony of voices in the back of his mind dragged him into consciousness_. _Joe opened his eyes to stark ceiling lights and found himself lying on a slab. It was too cozy to be a torture den, yet too rigid to be a hospital room. His ears could detect one person in the room with him, watching from the shadows. "Where am I?"

"The morgue. It's usually where we take people who stand up to Zane," a feminine voice responded. Joe turned to see a woman with long blonde hair in a white lab coat, studying him with pale green eyes that were misleading in their innocence. If it weren't for the slight mechanical sound of armor beneath her white lab coat, he would have believed she was a doctor. "Feeling like a hero yet?"

Joe sat up on the slab, wincing in pain. His entire mid-section was wrapped with bandages, the familiar sting of medi-gel working beneath was reassuring. The puffy sensitive spots on his jaw, arms and legs revealed burn marks from the shock batons and biotics alike. Thankfully no bullet markings.

"You're lucky Caesar figured out who you were and intervened before they filled you with holes," the woman said, examining him with experienced eyes that made him re-consider his earlier analysis. "Though we're all curious as to how you held your own against six of our people. Are you on combat stims?"

Stimulants were illegal in the force. Not only that, but they seemed to have an adverse reaction to NYPD augments, usually leading officers to claw out their eyes and rip off flesh in a state of excited delirium. "No. Stimulants are banned by sub-section 2-917 of the IPAC law enforcement code."

"Good." If she was impressed she didn't show it. But he caught the subtle pause in her hand as she typed his statement into her omni-tool.

"What happened to the woman?" he asked, watching her intently.

"Apprehended and in custody." When she finished typing she gestured for him to lie down. "I'm going to reset your right shoulder. It'll hurt bad."

Sedatives were available for this procedure, everything from basic morphine to actually putting the subject to sleep while it was done. But if she waited for him to wake up, it meant that she wanted him to feel every second of pain. Joe understood that pain and clenched his bandaged fist, remembering when it connected to a squishy batarian head.

Her hands were cold against his skin and seemed to hover the long-healed scars that rippled his shoulder. She set her palm flat against his rotator cuff, grabbed his forearm with her other hand and pulled.

Joe grit his teeth against the searing pain. It felt like someone was sawing off his arm, grinding muscle against bone. After three minutes of slow agony it locked into place. Joe took shallow breaths but didn't cry out or make a sound, opting to test his fixed arm with slow rotations.

The so-called doctor stood back and pretended to read a data pad while stealing furtive glances in his direction.

"I'm sorry," he said after a while, massaging his swollen right fist.

She put the data pad on her lap and regarded him with fire in her eyes. "For what?"

"If I hurt your co-workers," Joe replied, swinging his legs over the side so that he could face her. The small twitch of the hand closest to her pocket confirmed his suspicions that she was armed. "They did a good job. The only reason I stepped in was because I thought they got carried away."

A smirk crept to her lips as her eyes green eyes narrowed in warning. "Let me give you a piece of advice, Earth-boy. If you don't like how we do our job around here then get the hell off my station. Otherwise, shut up, suit up and take a good whiff of the shit we deal with each and every day _before_ you attack the good guys."

From the relative safety of his helmet he would have had all the time in the world to admire this woman. To take in her perfectly symmetrical features and omniscient green eyes that shed their mask of innocence like a cheap coat. But he tore his gaze away and surveyed the room, adjusting to the familiar stench of death and despair in the air.

The door burst open, interrupting their standoff as a hyped-up salarian strode in. "Ah Sergeant Amberly. Congrats! Promotion well deserved."

Joe watched as all severity leached from her voice, retreating behind the veil and replaced with a genuine smile for the doctor. "Thank you, Dr. Solus." She took off her lab coat to reveal the gloss black armor beneath. "He's all yours. I'll be outside if you need help restraining him."

It was easy to tell a rookie cop from an experienced one based on how they walked in armor. The rooks were always playing catchup, not used to their suits responding to intended movement as well as physical. Amberly's graceful footsteps belayed experience well beyond the grunts he fought off earlier. If the rest of the force was like this, then maybe Omega still had a chance.

"What's going on?" Joe asked, watching the doctor's bulbous eyes as he prepped some tools.

"Standard physical. Mandatory. All officers passed," Mordin informed, flicking his omni-tool and preparing a scan.

Normally these tests happened when one was in peak physical condition, anything less than that was guaranteed to fail. Maybe that's what they wanted, but Joe wasn't ready to give them the satisfaction. He sat very still as the doctor did his tests. Perfectly aware of the audience just beyond the door.

**~O~**

September 2179-Chief Dominic Parker's office-Omega Metro Precinct, 1st floor.

Lieutenant Mac Walters flicked his lighter and brought the flame close to the cigarette he held trapped between his teeth. If smoking was a problem worthy of a $150 fine on Earth, it didn't seem to be an issue on Omega. Rik made a mental addendum as he watched the flecks of ash float to the murky carpet.

"Renee Montoya," Mac mused, taking a long drag and adding blue smoke to go with the grungy office decorum. "First time I heard that name in fifteen years. How is the broad?"

"Captain Montoya runs the 24th precinct," Joe replied, flexing his gauntlet clad hand. He expected some cheap aftermarket armor, distributed en-mass to a dying police force. But Omega Metro appeared to have standards where armor was involved, ones that the folks at Kassa Fabrication met.

On earth they were equipped with Medium Mantis armor from Hahne-Kedar industries, the same ones funneled through Alliance ranks. It was powerful, light, versatile and the best suit Joe had ever worn. But this new suit was something else. The techs told him it was a variant of the Medium Colossus Armor, the difference being that each suit was coded to its wearer's neural interface, so no thug could reverse engineer it for their cause. Aesthetically, it was black and blue instead of the fire emblem red that was shown in the catalogs. To accommodate the changes, the techs built a new helmet all together, one with a polarized half-helm faceplate that could extend to the wearer's liking. There was also a hidden respirator that could be toggled at will. Joe was in love, but nobody knew it since he chose to keep the faceplate down at all times.

Mac was curiously one of the few out of armor, opting for a white dress shirt, black pants and highly polished boots. He was armed with a Karpov pistol, not the standard issue Razer clipped to Joe's belt.

"Never thought I'd hear from her again." Mac nodded to Joe's armor and lowered his cigarette. "You test it out yet?"

It was tempting to brush off the change in topic, but some part of him wanted to know more, insisted even. "How did you know her?"

Mac chuckled and stubbed his cigarette in the ash tray by the nameplate Dominic Parker. "If I sat down and told you that, I'd be dead before I could stand. Sorry, Rik. I gave the lady my word."

Joe frowned. Ever since they walked through the precinct doors Mac had taken to calling him Rik, not that it mattered, he had been called by many names. Some less pleasant than others. But the family name Rikshaw tugged at his heart, a dull ache that was quickly forgotten when the adrenaline kicked in.

A rough knock came at the door.

Mac crossed his arms, leaning against the grand desk in the middle. "It's open."

The door slid open, revealing a fully armored Lieutenant that stood in stark contrast to Mac. The only difference was he didn't have his helmet on like Joe.

"Come on, Mac. What if I were Dom?" The lieutenant identified on his HUD as Ceasar Hanz asked.

"Dom wouldn't knock to get into his own office," Mac replied, with an air of impatience. "Where is the old timer anyway?"

Caesar shrugged and set his gaze to Joe as if looking at an old friend. "You must be the new guy. Welcome aboard, Sergeant Rikshaw."

"It's good to be here," Joe replied, reaching out to shake the offered hand.

Caesar glanced to Mac with a wide grin when he let go. The Lieutenant's demeanor reminded him of Sergio back on Earth, probably still sniffing around for him. "New but not green. I like that," Caesar commented.

"Renee trained him, I wouldn't expect much less," Mac said dismissively as he consulted his omni-tool.

"I shake hands—"

"—as a test of armor control mastery," Rik finished, knowing the tactic after having used it with many of the new patrol officers. "If my hand is not crushed, then the rook is in proper control of his armor and is fit for duty."

"Right," Caesar noted, eyes alight with glee. "I suppose it should be called the test of fate. What do you think, Mac?"

"We better get started," the other lieutenant replied and grabbed a guest seat opposite Rik, with Caesar observing from the side.

For nearly two hours both men quizzed him on every possible crime scenario in Omega. They picked through his knowledge of the Intergalactic Police Accreditation Committee code of conduct and challenged him on some of its more vague laws. Joseph didn't hesitate on a single answer, he had the book memorized upon graduation from the academy. There was nothing to stump him.

When Mac eventually ran out of questions, his sixth cigarette dangled precariously at the edge of his mouth. Caesar grinned from ear-to-ear like some crazy person and gave him the thumbs up signal.

After signing the necessary paperwork, Mac stood up, rolling his shoulders slowly. "I'll bring these to the techs so they can get you some credentials and a badge." Mac turned to Caesar with a mock bow. "He's all yours."

No sooner had the door closed than Caesar was pouring two cups of what the HUD identified as bourbon. It was anyone's guess as to where he got it from, but it gave off a golden sparkle against the city's twilight.

Caesar offered a glass as he held his one of his own. "Before you even think of refusing, remember that you're not on the job yet and I've just come off duty," Caesar urged with a wicked grin.

Rik took the glass, knowing it was really just a test to see if he was comfortable removing his helmet.

Caesar didn't pressure him and instead took in the view of the city. Sky Cars drove erratically in the distance, to the song of a siren. The city's low hum of mechanical noise, street performers and mystique barely penetrated the sound proof glass, but Rik could still pick it up through his helmet's amplifiers.

Caesar raised a glass to his city and took a sip of his drink. "Look outside, Rikshaw. What do you see?"

He did and felt his eyes grow wide in recognition. Omega didn't have Beirut's stubborn spirit. The people here were too skittish or hot-headed for any kind of organization. They were fragile, a pit stop at the edge of the galaxy that accepted many and relinquished few. If he could assign a motto 'this is it' would be it.

"I see a city run on vulnerability and fear." He turned to Caesar and retracted his faceplate. The twilight was more powerful than he predicted so Joe had to squint against it. "The people seem tough but lack confidence."

It was hard to see Caesar's expression against the light, but he heard the slight chuckle in the other man's voice. "Jesus, Rik there's hope for you yet. When I asked Lex the same question he used very blunt albeit less poetic vocabulary. You actually see the people."

When the light became too much, Rik turned away and tasted his drink. The first sign of sweetness came from a bottle. He smiled at the implications as his thoughts bounced between past, future and present.

Their silent musings were interrupted by simultaneous beeps on their omni-tools. Joe glanced to his arm that now displayed his new credentials. Joseph Rikshaw at the rank of Sergeant, badge #2532, Major Crimes Unit under supervisory control of Lieutenant Caesar Hanz (Unit Head). He smiled, Montoya must have done a hell of a scrub job if he was going by his old credentials.

Joe set his drink down as Caesar whistled. "Didn't think they worked that fast. Mac must've pulled some rank," Caesar remarked, as he downed the last contents of his bourbon. "I'll take you to meet the gang in a bit. But first things first, I dunno how you did it in New York but up here we work with partners."

"Understood," Joe replied. He was pretty neutral about the idea of partnering up, sometimes it was useful, sometimes it was a waste of man power.

But before he could take another step, Caesar called out. "You can come in now, no use eavesdropping."

The fact that someone was at the door and went completely undetected unnerved Rik. It took a sip of alcohol to dull his senses? That was pathetic and would have to be rectified at some point down the road. For now, Rik stood ramrod straight in expectation.

The door swished open to reveal a familiar batarian on the other side. The only difference was that his silver corporal badge was replaced with the gold one of a sergeant. He looked confused until his eyes settled on Rik with fury. The big guy received as good as he gave and large bruises made his already ugly face that much prettier. One of his six eyes was swollen shut, while the split lip from where Rik slugged him seemed frozen in pain. He stood clutching a small box, choking on his own fury.

Three others entered behind him with drone cams, leaving the door open for the busybody cops in the war room to watch what was clearly some sort of hazing ritual.

Caesar stepped forward and spoke into his omni-tool which only amplified his voice in a dramatic way. "Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for coming to witness the unholy matrimony of our newest member Sergeant Joe Rikshaw and the newly promoted Sargent Zane Korrigan become one functional unit under my watchful eye."

Applause and cat calls followed as drones snapped pictures and everyone laughed. Amberly, the woman from earlier seemed to be controlling a drone from her omni-tool. While the smarmy looking man beside her controlled the other, teasing Rik as it flew too close to his face.

Caesar hopped on the guest chair and quieted everyone down before turning to Rik. "Do you, Joseph Rikshaw take Zane Korrigan as your law abiding partner in crime?"

As much as Joe hated being the center of attention, he understood the need for camaraderie. It's the glue that makes or breaks a unit. Joe swallowed his pride and answered. "I do."

The whelps and catcalls rose up again, prompting Caesar to settle everyone down. Zane huffed to him with impatience, dangerously close to breaking the wooden box in his hands.

"Do you, Zane Korrigan take Joseph Rikshaw as your law abiding partner in crime?" Caesar asked.

The batarian glared at his superior. "He should be locked in the basement keeping Soma company—"

"Zane! Come on buddy, you've already paid for the honey moon suite. You're not getting cold feet are ya?" Caesar interrupted before things got unpleasant.

"Come on Korrigan!"

"You can do it!"

Calls from the staff outside permeated into the room. Zane only shook his head. "I do," he muttered begrudgingly to the ring of cheers.

"Before we consummate this partnership, Rik needs two more pieces of equipment." Caesar nodded to the box in Zane's clutches. "Zane?"

The batarian complied and opened the cover. Metro-Branded Badge #2532 stared back at him, gleaming in the golden light emanating from the Omega Police omni-tool beside it.

Caesar snatched the box before Zane could do something stupid and handed it off to Rik. "I now pronounce you partners in crime!" Caesar announced.

Thunderous cheer sounded throughout the entire floor. Rik wrote it off as a joke until officers and staff came forward to shake his hand and welcome him to the Metro while Zane got pats on the back for being a half decent sport.

After the party died down, seven of them remained. Caesar made the introductions. Valerie Miller and Tim Treger were introduced as Junior corporals attached to Major Crimes. Sergeant Michelle Amberly was re-introduced, but no longer glared daggers at him when they shook hands. The man beside her was Sergeant Lex Riley who looked ambivalent about the whole affair. Last but not least, the batarian Zane was still fuming but seemed to have settled down now that the drones were off.

"This is my unit, Rik. We're glad you're now a part of it," Caesar finished off.

"It's an honor," Rik said, not sure why it felt so genuine but it did.

The other members of the team seemed taken aback by the blunt honesty but didn't know what to say in return. It was Amberly, who snapped out of it first and gave him her first smile. "Welcome to Omega."

"Try not to fuck it up," Lex added, with a snide glance to Zane.

Rik swapped omni-tools and patched himself into the Metro radio. The gold badge found its way onto his magnetic belt. There was something familiar about the city and while it was a far-cry from the home he left years ago, he knew Omega was just getting started.

A/N: Thank you for reading! If you want to know what happens to Rikshaw, read Omega Metro 2077. Thank you Aeternix for giving me the chance to tell this story.


End file.
